


The Thing With Feathers

by LadyWallace



Series: Through Flame and Fire (Katabasis Verse) [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caring Bobby Singer, Caring Dean Winchester, Caring Sam Winchester, Family Feels, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Idjits, Insecure Castiel, Nightmares, No Slash, Recovery, Season 7 AU, Sick Castiel, Some angst, Story Sequel, Team Free Will, angel wings headcanon, molting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-07 02:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12224076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWallace/pseuds/LadyWallace
Summary: This is a sequel to my story "Katabasis" so I would suggest reading that one first so you get the backstory to this one.





	1. Hope is the thing with feathers

**Author's Note:**

> The Poem "Hope Is the Thing With Feathers" is by Emily Dickinson

"Hey Cas! Chow's on—get it while it's hot!"

Castiel furrowed his brow as he set aside the book he had been reading with a regretful sigh. Even though he had to admit his stomach was ready for food again, it was a tedious process, eating, being hungry in general, and he still hadn't really gotten used to it.

He got off the couch carefully, folding his wings across his back to make sure he didn't hit anything, or knock anything over—that had been the norm, and even though Bobby didn't come right out and say anything, Castiel could tell that the older hunter was getting tired of stuff being knocked over or broken.

It had been a little over two weeks now that Sam and Dean had rescued him from Hell. Just the thought of that still boggled his mind. Of course, he had gone to Hell twice voluntarily, once to rescue each of them, but the fact that two mere humans had been able to traverse the Underworld, and did so for the sake of one broken, fallen angel…it made his heart ache in a grateful way every time he thought about it. Especially after their long talk that one day where Sam and Dean had essentially made a pact of brotherhood with him, adopting him into their small and broken family.

In a way, it was exactly where Castiel belonged, the first place he actually felt like he was right, but still, accepting the change was difficult. He still feared that one day the Winchesters would see him as too much of a burden and throw him out, despite their assurances that they would never do that. He had nightmares about it, now that he had to sleep. He had to remind himself that they were just fears, that in time, he would feel like he truly belonged. But it was hard to erase deep fears that had been partly realized before and hammered into his head more by the psychological manipulation he had endured in Hell.

But his physical changes might have even been harder to bear. After he had woken once again on Earth, he had determined that he was, for all intents and purposes, human. It was very similar to how he had felt in those last days before the Apocalypse, but then he had been so busy worrying about how they would stop Lucifer and Michael that he hadn't truly appreciated how hard it was to be human. He did still have his grace—a tiny nearly indistinguishable spark buried deep inside of him—but he had to eat, and sleep, and deal with bodily functions and personal hygiene; and wounds took a very long time to heal. He was still not fully recovered from his stint in Samyaza's dungeon, and he knew that some of the scars would stay with him for life.

But he still had his wings. They were currently corporeal as it was easier to heal them this way—and they were healing, thankfully. The wounds caused by Samyaza's chains were only scar tissue now that was tender but bearable.

He could still put his wings back on the ethereal plane too—he'd made sure to try it—but they felt even more confined than they had before, pinching and uncomfortable. He didn't quite know why, but decided it must have had something to do with how low his grace was, making his wings more corporeal. He supposed he should be grateful he had them at all, even if they were in pretty terrible condition.

He trudged into the kitchen where Dean was serving up bowls of chili and thick wedges of cornbread. The food smelled very appetizing, and Castiel couldn't really say that eating was all bad. Just tedious having to do it at least three times a day, unless he wanted his stomach to feel like it was eating itself.

He carefully settled at the table, angling his wings just right so that they didn't get in anyone's way, and took up his spoon as Dean set a bowl in front of him.

"Hope you like spicy things, Cas," Sam said somewhat wryly. "Dean makes chili hot enough to scald."

Castiel frowned, glancing at the bowl worriedly.

"Not literally, idjit," Bobby told him fondly.

"It's not that bad," Dean protested. "Cure what ails ya! Puts hair on your chest."

Castiel frowned further. "I don't think that's possible with the ingredients in this."

Dean rolled his eyes and Castiel figured he had missed some colloquialism again. "Just try it, Cas."

Castiel took a cautionary spoonful, waiting for it to cool down—he'd learned that one the hard way—and then put it into his mouth. It was spicy, burning his tongue and down his throat in a different way than temperature heat did, but he wasn't opposed to the feeling, and the flavor was rich and enjoyable, especially with the diced onions and the cheese Dean had melted on top.

"Well?" Dean asked, eager for his report.

"I like it," he told the hunter with a small smile.

Dean beamed. "Great! I'll show you how to make it sometime. It's not hard at all."

Castiel was a bit skeptical. He'd had several cooking lessons already and had seemed to somehow mess up each one—most infamously, putting baking soda into a batch of pancakes instead of baking powder. That had not been pleasant.

But chili didn't involve baking chemistry, so maybe he would have better luck with it.

He could help wash the dishes though, which was usually what he did with Sam after dinner—the rule was whichever person didn't make dinner had to clean up and since Sam didn't really cook, he and Castiel were usually stuck doing the cleaning up.

After the chili was consumed, Castiel helped clear the table and began to run the water in the sink. He twitched his wings, scrunching his face up at the discomfort he was feeling. They had been itchy all day for some reason, and were only getting worse. Sam noticed his squirming, and cocked his head at him with some concern.

"You doing okay, Cas? How are the shirts working out?"

After Castiel had regained consciousness and they realized he was going to have to keep his wings corporeal at least until they healed, Dean had surprised him by modifying some shirts—t-shirts, flannels, and even hooded jackets—with slits in the back for his wings to go through.

Castiel had been surprised and touched by the elder Winchester's ingenuity as Dean had self-consciously handed them over. Castiel hadn't even known Dean could sew.

"Who do you think sewed patches on all of Sammy's clothes when he was a kid?" Dean asked defensively when Castiel had commented on that.

"The shirts are fine," Castiel assured Sam, and they were. Even if it was a little difficult getting them on, he had plenty of room for his wings once he got them settled. "I think it's just the healing injuries. My wings itch a bit."

Sam nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, healing does itch a lot."

"It just doesn't usually take this long so I'm not quite used to the feeling of natural healing," Castiel said with a slight sigh as he took a wet plate Sam handed him and began to dry it off. "I suppose it's just another thing I'm going to have to get used to."

Sam smiled encouragingly. "For what it's worth, Cas, I think you're doing pretty well. I can't even imagine how it would be to have to learn everything I take for granted about being a human as an adult."

"Like understanding when you're hungry?" Castiel asked wryly. "Or how to brush your teeth?"

Sam chuckled. "Yeah. But you know what? At least we're not in the middle of a war or anything. You have plenty of time to learn and to get used to stuff without pressure. I know Dean's looking forward to teaching you how to drive once your wings are healed."

Castiel took another plate from the drainer. "Well, I am very grateful to you and Dean and Bobby as well for being so patient with me. I know I must be infuriating at times."

"Hey, that's not true," Sam said firmly. "Sometimes I think Dean and I just don't always think about stuff you may not know because it's second nature to us. But we definitely don't mind if you ever have questions, no matter how silly or ridiculous you might think they are."

Castiel snorted slightly. "You know, I sometimes find it amazing that, even though I spent so much time observing humanity and even living among you as an angel, it isn't until now that I have truly begun to see just how much goes into it—being human."

Sam laughed. "Well, it's not all easy, that's for sure. But to be fair, Dean and I aren't exactly the best examples either."

"On the contrary," Castiel said sincerely. "You and Dean are wonderful examples of the human race. Everything you have gone through, and survived, all the times you have saved the world—I am proud to know you and I wouldn't want anyone else to teach me how to be human."

Sam smiled, looking somewhat self-conscious. "Well, thanks, Cas. I'm just glad we can be here for you. I mean, after everything you've done for us…" he trailed off, a distant look in his eyes, before he swallowed hard and pulled his smile back on. "Well, I could say we owe you everything, but it's more than that too; it's because you're family."

Castiel still felt something warm uncurl inside his chest, small and slightly hesitant, whenever Sam or Dean reiterated that sentiment—and they had been doing so quite a bit lately as well, always making sure to remind him of why they had rescued him from Hell. Making sure he knew exactly how they felt about him so the issues they'd had in the past didn't come around to haunt them again. There was still that slightest bit of doubt and fear in the back of his mind when they said it, that it couldn't possibly last, but each time, he got better at shoving those cruel thoughts aside and was better able to just embrace this new feeling of family, of brotherhood, that he had been so grateful to experience.

"Thank you, Sam," he said softly, afraid that the pricks behind his eyes were going to make him embarrass himself. The stronger emotions were another thing that was hard to bear about his new condition.

But the moment broke as Dean strode into the kitchen and over to the fridge, pulling out a couple beers. "Hey, there's a game on tonight, you guys wanna watch?"

"Be in in a second," Sam told him and he and Castiel finished up the dishes and went into Bobby's den to watch the ballgame on TV. Castiel had never really watched one before and found it rather confusing.

Dean seemed to notice his furrowed brow because he began to explain the rules of the game. Pretty soon, Castiel was enjoying it more, now that he understood what was going on, but he was still having a hard time concentrating because his wings were itching even worse now.

He shifted uncomfortably several times, before giving up and reaching back to scratch one of his wings, finally relieving some of the itching.

However, when he pulled his hand away, several feathers came with it, fluttering to the floor. He frowned. Perhaps he was also itching because he needed to get rid of some of the damaged feathers.

But he didn't really want to litter Bobby's house with them. Maybe tomorrow, he would go outside and see if he could loosen some of them out there.

Unfortunately, the itching only got worse and Dean finally turned to him from the other side of the couch with an incredulous look.

"Dude, what are you doing?"

It was then that Castiel realized he had been subconsciously rubbing his wing against the back of the couch in an effort to relieve the itching sensation. He stopped instantly, embarrassed.

Thankfully, Sam interrupted. "Are your wings still itching, Cas?"

He nodded, still feeling slightly self-conscious about the situation.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You need a back scratcher or something?"

Cas shook his head. "No, I think it's just a combination of the injuries and the damaged feathers. It should be okay within a couple days."

"Well, all right, but let us know if it gets any worse," Dean said. "Experience with having wings is one thing we can't really help you with. But stop scratching, okay? You don't want to reopen those wounds."

Castiel bit his lip as the itching continued, seeming even more persistent now that he wasn't allowed to scratch, but he nodded. "Okay."

For the next few days, his wings continued to itch, but Sam checked his wounds and saw they were healing properly—probably the main cause—and he had gone outside and shook his wings out, dislodging several feathers that needed to go.

But as the week went on, feathers started appearing all around Bobby's house, finding their way into corners and under books, and in books, and on furniture. Castiel's bed was especially littered with them every morning when he got up. They were clogging the bathroom sink for some reason, and probably would have been in the shower too, but he usually put his wings back on the ethereal plane when he showered because he wouldn't have fit in the small stall otherwise.

Finally, it was getting to the point where no one could go anywhere without stepping or sitting on feathers, and when Bobby found one floating in his morning coffee, he'd had enough.

"You idjits need to figure out what's going on with your angel!" he said to Sam and Dean as he put a coffee soaked feather onto the table. "Before he goes bald."

Castiel had caught the tail end of the conversation and stood by awkwardly, the whole situation rather embarrassing. It was even more so when Sam and Dean turned concerned looks toward him.

"He's right, Cas, this is…well, I don't really know what it is," Dean admitted with a shrug. "Is this…normal?"

Castiel hung his head, pulling his wings closer to his body self-consciously. "I—I'm sorry for the inconvenience, I can make them incorporeal again…"

"No, Cas, it's not an inconvenience," Sam said and for some reason a feather chose just that moment to dislodge itself, catch a breeze, and fly right past Sam's face, almost tickling his nose. "It's just…we're not sure what's going on with you right now. We want to make sure you're okay."

"Yeah, I mean, you've never left feathers lying around before," Dean said. "At least, not that we've seen anyway, and now it looks like ground zero of an epic pillow fight—without the sorority girls."

Castiel shifted on his feet, hugging his arms close to his chest. "Well, normally, I would say this is like a molt, but it's not time for a normal molt and I don't usually lose so many feathers at once."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "So…angels molt?" Dean shot his brother a longsuffering look.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "Of course. We have feathers and feathers naturally fall out just like hair. But we don't molt annually like birds since we live much longer."

"Huh," Sam said, his face scrunching up in that way it did when he found something interesting.

"You're such a nerd," Dean hissed at him. "So if it's not a molt, what it is?" he addressed Castiel.

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Perhaps it's because of the injuries."

"Actually, you're probably not that far off with that assumption," Sam told them. "When I was looking into wing care before when we first got you back, I saw something about how sometimes when birds have heavy wing or feather damage, they go into out of season molts. I guess it could be the same for angels."

Castiel furrowed his brow thoughtfully. "There was one time Anna was injured badly in the original war against Lucifer. Her wings were damaged and she did lose most of her feathers before growing them back. Perhaps you are right, Sam."

"So, what do we do about this?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, is there any way we can help?" Sam added with that earnest look on his face.

Castiel shrugged helplessly. "I don't really think there's anything anyone can do. I'm just going to have to weather this as well as everything else until it passes." What he didn't say was that he was afraid he wouldn't grow his feathers back at all. He had never heard of an angel having this problem when they didn't have their grace, and worried that because of his fallen and nearly human state, his wings would simply wither away with the feathers. He was really as clueless as the Winchesters with this one as to what would happen in the long run.

One thing he did know though, was that it probably wasn't exactly going to be pleasant.

Castiel sighed inwardly. Just one more thing he had to look forward to with his new condition.


	2. That perches in the soul

 

Dean swept the last of Cas' feathers into a shoebox—the ones that would fit, anyway. His bigger flight feathers he bundled up separately and tucked into one of Bobby's closets. Thankfully, Cas didn't seem to be losing as many of those, mainly just the ones that were broken or badly damaged, but it was still a little unnerving to see so many of the glossy black feathers lying around Bobby's house.

"You planning on making a pillow out of those?" Bobby asked wryly as he looked up from his desk while Dean scooped more feathers from between the couch cushions. He made a face as he found some popcorn there too and carefully separated the feathers out.

"I just…didn't think it would be a good idea to throw them away," Dean shrugged, somewhat self-conscious. "You can use them in spells, right? Besides, I don't know if there's some way to control or hurt an angel by having its feathers, so I'd rather they not get into the wrong hands."

Bobby grunted in agreement. "Speaking of Feathers, what do you plan on doin' with him? They don't exactly make books for Angel Care 101."

Dean sighed, tucking more errant feathers into the shoebox while trying to keep the others from falling out. "Yeah, I know. Sam's been doing as much research as he can on bird molting, but we're still really only guessing here. I mean, even Cas says this isn't exactly normal, and it's not like we can just ring up an angel for help. All the ones who might have been willing to help Cas are dead."

"I know," Bobby said and the softness in his voice surprised Dean. "All the family he's got right now is in this house. It's not gonna be easy for any of us."

Dean sank into the chair on the opposite side of the desk, propping his chin in one hand, hiding a smile at the crotchety old hunter's admission that he viewed Cas as family too. "I know Bobby. But hey…um, thanks…you know, for letting us and Cas crash here."

"Well, what's one more idjit to get in my way?" Bobby grunted. "Now if you're so grateful, you can go make yourself useful and brew a fresh pot of coffee."

Dean rolled his eyes but decided coffee sounded like a good idea so he got up, tucked the box of Cas' feathers back into the hall closet, and went to the kitchen to make it.

Sam emerged a few minutes later as the rich aroma began to fill the house, and sat at the table with his laptop.

"Hey, find anything useful?" Dean asked him as he watched the last of the coffee burble and poured a cup for Sam.

"Well, I found a lot," Sam said wryly. "But how much is going to be useful? Who knows?" He sighed and rubbed his eyes, taking the cup Dean offered and waiting for it to cool. "Is Cas not awake yet?"

Dean glanced at the clock and saw it was almost 9 a.m. Cas was usually up by now. "Huh, no. And he's usually up at dawn."

Sam twisted his mouth. "His light was on most of the night, and I heard him moving around, restless. I know it's mostly because his wings are itching so badly, but I think it's partly the nightmares too."

Dean swallowed hard, turning back to the coffee pot to pour two more cups, remembering the first week they'd had Cas back—none of them had slept with Cas waking every couple hours screaming his throat raw, practically inconsolable until he became responsive again and realized where he was. "I know. But let's face it, none of us sleep really well with the lives we lead."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Sam took a long drink of his coffee and glanced up as a third figure stumbled into the room.

Dean glanced around. "Hey," he said as Cas shuffled blearily in, still dressed in his sleep clothes, and slumped across the table from Sam. "You look like you could use some coffee."

Cas grunted, but gratefully accepted the cup Dean handed him. Dean refrained from smirking. Cas had certainly taken on the persona of your typical un-caffeinated human in the morning.

Dean glanced at the angel's wings as he brought the other cup to Bobby. They were patchy, even more so than the day before, and through the featherless spots, Dean could see raw, irritated looking patches of skin that weren't just from the previous injuries. Cas also twitched his shoulders every few seconds as if trying to keep from scratching. No wonder he hadn't slept well.

"Cas, are your wings still itching?" Sam asked him after their friend had taken several sips of coffee.

"Yes," Cas replied shortly, his eyes narrowed.

Sam shared a look with Dean and the elder brother stepped in quickly. "We'll figure something out, buddy, don't worry."

Cas grunted, and Dean grabbed his own cup of coffee, beating a hasty retreat to Bobby's library where he grabbed his laptop and started to do his own research on molting and itchy wings.

Sure, all the sites were about parrots and canaries, but Dean figured that angels and parakeets both had feathers so the methods would probably be pretty universal.

Apparently molting was always an itchy thing for birds; in fact, it seemed like an unpleasant process in general. Dean weeded through viable information on a bunch of bird owner forums, but one thing he saw all of them say was that baths in warm water seemed to help. Dean wondered if that would help Cas too. He figured that at this point, having watched the poor guy scratching his wings to bits for the last few days, anything could be better than nothing.

Unfortunately, he didn't think Cas' wings would fit in the shower.

"Hey, Bobby," he said, looking up from his laptop. "You think you could help me with something?"

An hour or so later, Dean and Bobby had unearthed a big metal tub and put it in the middle of the garage where there would be plenty of room for Cas to stretch his wings. Then they hooked up a hose to the shop sink, which thankfully ran hot water as well as cold. Dean looked at it a bit skeptically.

"Well, I guess it will do, but I think I'm going to need to pick up a few things."

"I need some stuff from the store anyway," Bobby said. "That angel does go through an awful lot of coffee and peanut butter."

"Give me a list, I'll make a run to town." Satisfied with his new plan, Dean went back inside for his wallet, catching Sam in the study.

"Hey, you have a hair dryer?" he asked his younger brother.

Sam frowned at him, halfway to a bitchface. "No, why are you asking me?"

Dean shrugged, deciding not to get into that argument right now. "No reason. You need anything from the store?"

"No…what are you doing, Dean? You look like you're up to something."

"Just figuring out something to help Cas. Hopefully, it will work."

Sam's face softened and he nodded. "Let me know if you need any help."

An hour later, Dean was back from the store with several bags. He dropped the food off in the kitchen, but brought the other into the study where Sam and Cas were sitting. The angel was trying to concentrate on a book, but was obviously having trouble since his wings twitched every once in a while.

"Hey, Cas," Dean called.

"Yes, Dean?" Cas replied, his voice tight.

"I uh…I have an idea to help your wings. Wanna try it out?"

"What is it?" Cas asked, seeming interested. Dean was grateful for that, at least. He figured the dude must be pretty desperate.

"Well, everyone seems to think warm baths help with molting, so I thought we'd try that." Dean shrugged.

"I don't think my wings will fit into the bathtub," Cas said, sounded slightly defeated.

"Bobby and I set up a tub out in the garage so you'll have more room."

Cas cocked his head to one side. "Well, okay. I suppose I will try it out."

Dean smiled and opened the bag of stuff. "Alright! Here, I got you some swim trucks to wear."

He handed Cas the swim shorts and left him to change while he and Sam went out to finish setting up the garage. Dean put a new head he had bought on the hose that dispersed the water more like a shower and began to run it so that it got to the right temperature. Sam looked through the bag at the other items he had bought, including a hair dryer.

"Ah, that's what you wanted this for," he said.

"Yeah, it says it's not a good idea to leave feathers wet," Dean told him.

Sam also unearthed a soft brush and a bottle of shampoo, which he held up with an incredulous look. "Baby shampoo?"

"Shut up, it has oatmeal in it, it's good for moisturizing," Dean said indignantly, then glared at Sam's amused look. "Don't even start. I'm actually trying to help here."

"So am I!" Sam protested then smirked. "I just wish I had gone to the store with you now."

Dean rolled his eyes but looked up to see Cas entering the garage, carefully maneuvering his wings through the door. He looked a little uncomfortable in the swim shorts, but he glanced at the tub with interest.

"Ready, Cas?" Dean asked, as he slid his over shirt off to keep it dry and held up the hose.

"I suppose," Cas said, glancing at the set up a bit dubiously.

"Have a seat," Dean motioned to the tub that already had some warm water in it. "Let me know if this is too hot."

Cas took a seat in the tub sideways, and positioned his wings over the sides. "It feels okay right now," he said.

"Good," Dean handed the hose off to Sam. "You get his shower going. Cas, do you think it would help if we try to loosen up some of the feathers that are coming out?"

Cas nodded, shifting slightly forward as Sam started to use the water on his wings, making it easier for the younger Winchester to reach them. "Yes, I think that might help."

"How about some oatmeal shampoo? It's supposed to keep your skin moisturized," Dean asked.

Cas cocked his head. "I suppose it couldn't hurt."

"How does it feel so far, Cas?" Sam asked as he let the water gently rain down on Cas' wings. Most of it was beading and sliding off due to his wings' natural waterproof state, but after a while it seemed to start soaking in.

"It…doesn't feel bad," Cas admitted. "The warmth is actually rather pleasant."

Dean and Sam shared a smile and Dean took up the bottle of shampoo. "Okay then, let's try the shampoo."

Dean squeezed some onto Cas' wings and began to work it in gently with his fingers, careful of the raw spots, but also wanting to make sure it got to the irritated skin. Cas twitched his wings several times, but didn't complain, so Dean figured that it was okay to continue. It was strange washing feathers like they were hair, and the fact he was giving an angel a wing shampoo was definitely bizarre in itself, but Cas wasn't going to be able to reach them himself, so Dean was willing to take one for the team here.

While he crouched behind Cas, though, he was having a hard time not staring at the scars that still covered his back from the tortures Samyaza had inflicted upon him in Hell—and particularly the lashmarks Cas had inflicted upon himself. Dean suppressed a shudder, moving his eyes to focus on his friend's wings instead. He didn't want to think about all that Cas had suffered, mostly because of him. Dean knew he wasn't totally responsible, but it was hard to tell himself that when he had seen how much pain Cas had gone through because he couldn't talk the angel down in time. Because he didn't bother to help him when his friend needed him most.

But that was then, this was now, and they had all decided that starting over was the best thing to do.

After the shampoo, Sam gently sprayed the soap from Cas' wings while Dean took up the brush and worked it through the feathers. It worked the shampoo out and also loosened quite a few feathers that needed to come out, putting the others back in place. Cas had fully relaxed in the tub at this point, arms folded over the side, his chin resting on them and his eyes half closed, looking actually quite content and like he might be on the verge of falling asleep. He almost looked disappointed when Sam shut the water off.

"Okay," Dean said. "I think we're done. How was that?"

Cas looked up, twitching his wings so that water droplets flew off of them. "That actually feels a lot better…thank you." He seemed almost surprised by the results.

Dean beamed, glad that his idea had worked. "Well, good to know something works. How about we get your wings dry, though? Probably not a good idea to keep them wet."

Sam helped Cas stand up with his waterlogged wings.

"Stand back," the angel said and Sam and Dean stepped back as he spread them fully and shook them like a dog, sending water flying off in every direction, still managing to hit the two Winchesters.

"Dude," Dean protested half-heartedly as he wiped his face off with his sleeve. "A little warning next time."

"I did tell you to stand back," Cas replied flatly.

Dean rolled his eyes and pulled out the blow drier, hooked it up to an extension cord so he would have more range of movement, and then worked on drying Cas' wings the rest of the way. It took a while, but since Cas' feathers were water resistant, the droplets mostly just flew off, as well as a few more feathers. Dean wasn't thrilled that Cas had only lost more feathers in the bath after the ones he had already dislodged, but he knew they would come off eventually anyway, and there was no point in prolonging Cas' suffering. And this seemed to have helped him, so Dean was going to count this as a win even if Cas was looking a little bald.

After his wings were dry, Cas tucked them up against his back in their resting position again, looking a lot more relaxed than he had earlier. He glanced at Sam and Dean, a grateful expression on his face. "Thank you. That actually feels a lot better. I do remember bathing as a fledgling once my feathers came in. I don't know why I didn't think of it before."

"Well, I'm glad it worked," Dean said, satisfied that he'd been able to do something to help his friend in this, admittedly strange, situation. "I know it's not a permanent fix, but let us know when they get really uncomfortable and we'll help out. I'll try to rig the hose up into a shower so you can come out and use it just to soothe your wings whenever you want to."

"Thank you, Dean, really, I…" he looked down, wings shifting in a way Dean had realized he did when he was self-conscious. He found that it was easier to read Cas' emotions now that he could see his wings. "I know this isn't exactly easy for you either, but your understanding is appreciated."

"Of course, Cas," Sam smiled at him. "You know we're always here to help."

"Now come on," Dean jerked his head toward the house. "You can get some dry clothes on, and I'll show you how to make grilled cheese and tomato soup for lunch."

Dean breathed an inward sigh of relief as he followed Cas inside the house. Maybe they could figure this out after all. They seemed to be off to a good start so far.


	3. And sings the tune without the words

The bath may have helped Castiel with the itching problem, in fact, he only got a few twinges throughout the rest of the day, thanks to the added moisturizing effects from the shampoo Dean had used, but unfortunately, it didn't help him with his insomnia issues.

He lay there on his bed that night, shifting restlessly, trying to find a position that was comfortable and also didn't involve lying on his wings. He had tried putting them back on the ethereal plane to sleep, but the molting seemed to just heighten the discomfort he felt when they were there, and they'd felt uncomfortably constricted. They also still itched but he couldn't scratch them on the ethereal plane, so that just made it harder for him to sleep.

Human beds were just not made to accommodate wings. They weren't the right shape, especially not the twin bed in the guest room of Bobby's he was currently staying in.

On top of that, he couldn't seem to regulate his body temperature that night. He didn't typically feel hot or cold since his grace regulated his body on a steady temperature when he was in a vessel, but now that it was so weakened, he apparently was going to suffer like any human. He just didn't understand why the constant fluctuation. He would start shivering and put on a blanket, but a few minutes later he would feel like he was burning up, only to remove it and shiver uncontrollably again. It was extremely annoying and somewhat distressing.

Eventually, his exhaustion got the better of him in the wee hours of the morning, and he passed out, sprawled half in, half out of a blanket, his wings spread on either side of the bed as he slept on his stomach, longest primary feathers scraping the floor. It didn't last long, as he was constantly gasping awake, heart pounding, feeling phantom pain in his wings as Samyaza's voice echoed in his head.

He could deal with the discomfort of his wings if only the nightmares would go away. He'd been tortured before, yes, but he'd never been subjected to dreaming. Now he thought he fully understood the distress and anguish he could sense from Sam and Dean when they woke from nightmares.

He buried his face in his pillow, breathing deeply and willed better thoughts into his head, thinking of the sunrise and the morning light that would kiss the sky in only a few hours. The birds song when as they greeted the day…he did enjoy listening to the birds when he was catching the last few vestiges of sleep in the morning. They always seemed so optimistic, and who wouldn't be when they got to fly?

Castiel did manage to fall asleep again, for a few restless hours, and woke groggily, feeling even worse than usual. His whole body ached, feeling heavy, and his eyes felt like sandpaper, his throat scratchy and painful when he swallowed. He pulled himself from bed, shivering slightly in the room, even though he was sure it wasn't that cold. Still, he pulled on one of the long sleeved shirts as well as one of the hooded sweatshirts Dean had modified for him. He stayed in the sweat pants he had slept in, adding a pair of thick socks. He didn't feel like putting the new stiff jeans on. They were not worn in enough to be comfortable yet, and his body was feeling oddly sensitive.

He trudged downstairs where he could smell coffee as usual. Sam was the only one there, looking at something on his laptop, and he smiled at Castiel as the angel came into the kitchen, but it soon turned into a frown as the younger Winchester studied him more closely.

"Cas, are you okay?"

Castiel slumped at the table with a sigh, a little too vigorously, it seemed, since he jammed some of his feathers into the floor, sending a jolt of pain up his wing. "Just a bad night," he grunted, his voice rougher than usual, causing him to frown. "Can I have some coffee?"

Sam made a sympathetic face and got up from the table to pour Castiel a cup. The angel took a grateful sip, cupping the mug between his hands as he felt its warmth seep into him, easing some of the cold he couldn't seem to shake.

"You want some eggs for breakfast?" Sam asked him.

For some reason the idea of eggs didn't sit well with his stomach and it was quick to let him know that with a sick gurgle. He shook his head. "No, thank you."

Sam got up and grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge along with two bowls. "How about some cornflakes?"

Castiel nodded, deciding that sounded much more manageable. Sam handed him the box of cereal and he poured himself a bowl, carefully adding milk and then taking a cautious spoonful. When it didn't make his stomach feel any worse than it already did, he ate more readily, hoping between the food and the coffee, his throat at least would start to feel better, but it didn't. It was just as sore and scratchy when he had finished, as it had been when he got up.

"Dean's out in the garage figuring up a shower pole for the tub," Sam told Castiel after a few minutes. "So if you feel like you need to take another shower today, it will be all set."

"I may do that later if my wings get bad again. The warm water really did help," Castiel told him. His wings weren't so terrible at the moment, but he knew it was only a matter of time before they got worse again.

"Okay, just let us know if you need any help," Sam offered as he stood to wash his bowl in the sink.

Castiel watched him, his wings shifting slightly in discomfort. "You have already done so much…"

"Hey, you promised not to say stuff like that," Sam chided gently with a smile. "Remember. It's not a problem for us to get you back on your feet. We've all been there."

And Castiel knew that Sam, of all of them, truly did understand. A sudden thought occurred to him, and he could have kicked himself for not asking earlier, too busy moaning about his own problems—he'd almost forgotten the events leading up to his interment in Hell. "How are you doing, Sam? You're not experiencing any…adverse effects from your wall, are you?" He had healed Sam thoroughly to his knowledge, but he had been in a bad way at the time thanks to the souls tearing him apart from the inside out, so he hoped he hadn't left any residue that would cause his friend ill effects.

Sam came back to the table and sat down, finishing the rest of his coffee. "No, actually, I feel pretty good. I mean, I was a little disoriented the first couple days but… There was a lot going on too, so that may have had something to do with it. But I'm good, Cas. And…thank you. For fixing me. I'm sure it wasn't easy when you were so bad off."

"It was the only truly good thing I was able to do with the power from the souls," Castiel told him truthfully with a sigh, shaking himself slightly, not really wanting to remember that right now. "But you don't…remember anything?"

Sam bit his lip, but shook his head. "I mean, I have some nightmares sometimes, but…I don't think they're memories, I think they're more echoes of trauma that I know I should be feeling but don't."

"We all have nightmares. Even I do now," Castiel replied wryly.

Sam gave him a sympathetic look. "I wish I could tell you a way to make it easier, but I don't know how. The only thing I can say is that they do fade over time, eventually."

"Yes, when you have a new trauma to replace them," Castiel said bitterly.

Sam's mouth twisted up. "Well, I guess you're not wrong." He looked down into his mug. "Sometimes I almost wonder what would be easier. The memories or the nightmares I create in my own head."

Castiel shook his head firmly. "It's not easier to know, Sam. I'm sure Dean would agree with me. You saw what Hell did to him, and your soul…" he closed his eyes, tears pricking behind his lids as he recalled what Sam's soul had felt like when he had touched it—the appalling horrors Lucifer had wrought upon it. Even Dean's soul, blackened by the pit had not been dealt such indescribable torments. "Oh, Sam. You don't want to know."

Sam paled slightly and swallowed hard, tracing a finger through some condensation on the tabletop. "I think I'll take your word for it."

Castiel got up slowly to get more coffee, the warmth at least soothing his throat, even if it didn't fix it. "And Dean? I know going back to Hell couldn't have been easy for him. I…I can hear him dreaming at night."

Sam's face saddened and he nodded. "Yeah, the flashbacks are coming hard again, but he knew about that before we went there." He looked Castiel in the eye earnestly. "Dean was the first one to suggest we go despite how hard it would be. As soon as he saw what was happening to you, figured out where you were, he would have dove right into Hell, Cas. So don't feel like you're responsible for that either."

Castiel sighed and took another long sip of his coffee. Yes, he knew Dean well enough to imagine how adamant he had been despite the risks, but still. Knowing that his friend had been forced to endure that again for him…it was still hard to believe that Dean and Sam had even made it out alive, and with him in tow, no less.

The door opened then and Dean tramped in, glancing up at Sam and Castiel sitting at the table. He frowned as he caught sight of their somber expressions. "Hey, what's up with you two this morning?"

Sam quickly shot him a look over his shoulder. "Haven't had enough coffee yet."

Dean snorted. "Yeah whatever. Hey, Cas, got the shower rigged up for you."

"I appreciate it, Dean, thanks," Castiel told him as he made to stand. His body obeyed reluctantly, all his joints seeming to feel stiff, his wings drooping under their own weight. Perhaps he would rest on the couch today and read, try to get a little sleep if he was lucky. He wasn't sure, but he felt that these uncomfortable symptoms he was experiencing had something to do with lack of proper rest. Besides, his head was aching now, despite his best efforts to caffeinate, as well as his eyes and throat, and he really just wanted to be alone for a while.

He felt Dean's eyes on his back as he left the kitchen, and then the low murmur of voices as the two Winchesters began conversing. Castiel was pretty sure they were talking about him, but he didn't really care. He was too tired to care.

He slumped on the couch and picked up the book he had been reading the other day, shifting for a bit before he found a comfortable position with his wings folded. Sure enough, they were starting to itch again, and he decided that after he attempted a nap, he would have to go test Dean's new shower.

Bobby came in a little while later to sit at his desk as usual, and answer the phones for hunters working jobs, pretending to be FBI or CDC or whatever was called for. Castiel wondered when Sam and Dean would go hunting again, and worried he was keeping them here, cooped up. He may not be fit for hunting himself at the moment, but he could definitely take care of himself here if they wanted to get out of Bobby's house for a while. He knew how Dean got stir crazy when cooped up too long. He could relate.

He did manage to doze off after a while, the words swimming on the page in front of him, and his aching body finding the couch surprisingly comfortable.

He woke later, disoriented, to someone shaking his shoulder. He groaned, trying to blink the grogginess from his eyes as Dean's voice cut through.

"Cas, you gonna sleep all day? It's almost dinner time!"

He looked blearily upward at the elder Winchester who was bending over the couch to wake him. He opened his mouth to reply, but a croak was all the came out, and he winced as his throat ached. He reached up to rub it, wondering why it was so much worse now.

Not only that, but he had a splitting headache, his body was achy, and he was shivering uncontrollably, chilled. His wings were also overly sensitive and alternately hurting and itching.

He groaned. "Dean," he forced out, after clearing his throat. "Something's wrong."

Dean was crouching beside him instantly, looking into his face, a worried expression furrowing his brow. "What do you mean, something's wrong? You feel okay?"

Castiel shook his head in defeat. "I feel…strange. Everything hurts."

Dean pressed the back of his hand to Castiel's forehead and the angel looked up at him incredulously. "You're warm."

"How could that be? I feel cold," Castiel protested, batting Dean's hand away clumsily.

Dean pressed his lips into a thin line and stood, calling out behind him, "Hey, Bobby, do you have a thermometer?"

"Should be one in the med kit, why?" the older hunter asked.

"Think Cas has a fever," Dean said.

Castiel groaned, trying to sit up, but only managing to tangle himself in his wings. "Angels don't get fevers," he protested. But then, with his grace so weakened…maybe he could.

"Yeah, I'll be the judge of that," Dean said and turned as Bobby came in and handed him a small thin stick before he crouched back down. "Let's take your temperature anyway, tough guy. This goes under your tongue and you've got to hold it there until it beeps, okay?"

Castiel glared at him, but rolled his eyes, allowing Dean to stick it under his tongue only so he might leave him alone to sleep again. Now he wished he hadn't woken up at all. It didn't take long for the contraption to beep though and Dean pulled it out, frowning as he saw it.

"Well, it's only 101, so it's not too bad, but I'm sure you feel like crap," Dean told him.

"Why is this happening?" Castiel demanded.

"I don't know, Cas, maybe you caught a bug."

"I don't have bugs," Castiel said indignantly. "That is not why my wings itch."

Dean rolled his eyes. "No, I mean you caught a cold or something. Or it might be because you've been run down lately. You haven't been sleeping well, and with this molting thing, it might just be manifesting in a fever."

"Well, I don't like it," Castiel said, sounding petulant even to his own ears, but not caring at the moment.

Dean let out a short chuckle. "No one likes being sick, Cas. But I'll tell you what. I'll make you some soup, and if you eat it, you can go to bed and sleep it off for the rest of the night, okay?"

"Will that make it go away?" Castiel asked hopefully.

"It won't hurt," Dean told him and stood. "Sit tight. I'll be back."

Sam appeared a moment later and pulled one of Bobby's desk chairs over to the couch with a sympathetic smile. "Hey, I'm really sorry you're feeling like crap, Cas. I kinda wondered when you got up this morning. You looked like you might be coming down with something."

Castiel grunted and propped himself up as well as he could, wings flopping on either side of the couch. "My throat and body hurt this morning. Now everything is just worse."

"I know, trust me. Fevers suck," Sam said. "But they don't last forever. I'm sure you'll start to feel better tomorrow."

Castiel wasn't so sure, but he was too tired to argue the point, and Dean was coming back in with a mug and a glass of water. He handed the glass to Castiel and then held out a cupped hand, showing him three small pills.

"Here, take these, it's just Tylenol for the fever. I thought we'd start with a normal dose, and see how that does. I'm still not sure how your angel thing really works now."

He wasn't the only one, Castiel thought wryly as he took the pills reluctantly.

"Don't chew them," Sam warned last minute.

Dean watched as Castiel swallowed the pills with some difficulty with his aching throat, and then handed the mug with a spoon sticking out of it to him next.

"Here, it's tomato rice. It should help your throat feel better."

Castiel normally would have thought the soup sounded good, but right now his stomach had other ideas. He shook his head. "I don't want to eat."

"Cas, you need to keep your strength up," Sam said softly. "I know your stomach probably doesn't feel that great because of the fever, but you'll probably feel better if you get something into it. And you can't leave the Tylenol on an empty stomach, it will only make you feel worse."

Castiel heaved a heavy sigh and took the mug from Dean reluctantly. He wasn't sure how much he could stomach, but he knew neither brother would leave him alone until he tried. So he took a small spoonful and sipped. It wasn't actually as hard to eat as he had imagined, the warmth was nice on his throat at least, and he managed about half the mugful before he set it aside. Dean seemed satisfied with that and took it from him.

"Okay, you should get to bed now, try to sleep it off," Dean told him.

"Here, I'll help you get settled," Sam offered and helped Castiel off the couch so he could get his wings situated without stepping on them. He had to admit, if not reluctantly, that he was grateful for the help. His head was feeling tired and his body didn't want to work.

Castiel was actually glad to see the bed when he got to the guest room, especially after the seemingly long walk up the stairs. It hadn't taken him that long to get up them since when he'd still been recovering from his injuries. Why was his body rebelling like this?

Sam pushed ahead of him and turned the covers down, stacking a couple pillows. "I'll get you a glass of water. And I know the fever makes you feel cold, but you can't overheat yourself either, so just stick with the sheet, okay?"

Castiel sighed as he slumped down on the side of the bed. "I never knew it was so much work to be sick," he muttered dejectedly.

Sam gave him a sympathetic smile and patted his shoulder. "Don't worry, Cas. It sucks, yeah, but it will be over soon."

Castiel gave a noncommittal grunt as Dean came in the room with a couple extra pillows.

"I know you're not congested, but if this does turn into a full blown cold, it will help to prop yourself up," he said, adding the pillows to the others on the bed. "You need anything else?"

Castiel shook his head wearily. "I just want to sleep."

"All right, we'll leave you alone," Dean said, sounding a little reluctant, but Castiel didn't want him to feel like he had to stay with him. He was only going to sleep, after all. "Just let us know if you need anything else, okay?"

Castiel nodded and was already sliding sideways on the bed, wings sprawling to either side as he lay down. His eyes were already closing, giving some relief to his aching head, as he felt Dean draw the sheet over top of him, tucking it up under his wings.

Castiel only hoped he felt better in the morning. He didn't think he was cut out for being human.

 


	4. And never stops at all

Castiel didn't feel better in the morning, in fact, he didn't even get to sleep that long.

Despite his initial exhaustion, he only slept solidly for about an hour. That was when the nightmares started.

It wasn't the normal nightmare where he was in Hell and Samyaza was torturing him, and Sam and Dean were definitely not coming, but in some ways this one was worse.

He stood on Bobby's porch, shivering from the fever, his body aching so much he could barely stand upright as Dean threw a bag at his feet.

"It's just not gonna work out, Cas," the elder Winchester stated with a shrug. "I just never figured on you being so much trouble."

"Sorry," Sam added, standing at his brother's shoulder and not sounding sorry at all.

Castiel stared into the warmth and comfort of Bobby's house, the last sanctuary he had known, before the door was slammed in his face and he was cut off from that sanctuary forever.

But he supposed it was his own fault for holding on so tightly to his foolish hope. Samyaza had been right—he never should have believed that this could last.

He bent his aching body to retrieve the small bag, a pittance of only material things that meant nothing to him, but that he would need now, and turned, starting off down the road with nowhere to go. He was completely alone.

~~~~~~~

Castiel jerked awake with a strangled cry, cheeks wet. He floundered a bit, his wings flapping a couple times, knocking a book from the side table before he got ahold of himself. It was dark, but his internal clock told him it was almost dawn. He took a shuddering breath and struggled to sit up among the tangle of sheets and wings.

He finally made it to his feet, staggering slightly, feeling disoriented and overly hot. His shirt was sticking to his chest uncomfortably and he realized he was sweating.

His stomach felt queasy, his head ached even more than before, and he staggered to the door of his room with the intention of heading to the bathroom.

Once he got there, he groaned as he flipped the light on, shielding his eyes for a few seconds before they adjusted to the sudden light. He caught sight of himself in the mirror then, and did a double-take. His eyes were sunken with dark circles under them, looking like bruises. His cheeks were flushed while the rest of him was too pale, and his hair was sticking up everywhere, as were his feathers.

In fact, his wings were excruciating. They itched so bad they almost burned. Flashes of Hell shot behind his eyelids as he blinked. Samyaza holding the brand and using it to burn his wings…

Castiel took a shuddering breath and concentrated on the here and now. He turned the sink on with shaking hands and splashed cool water onto his face. It felt colder than it should have, shocking his system. He quickly turned it to the hot side and grabbed a washcloth from a shelf. He soaked it and then tried to squeeze it over his wings to ease them a bit. He knew he should probably just go use the shower, but the thought of walking all the way down to the garage made him feel even more weary than he already was.

Unfortunately, the trickles of water did little more than make the floor wet. The itching persisted, reaching maddening levels, and Castiel pulled his wing around as much as he could and dug his fingers in, scratching, clenching his teeth as he tried to ease the horrific feeling.

As he contorted his body, fighting to reach his wings better, he forgot about the wet floor and with his already feverish delirium, he stepped wrong and slipped, falling with a surprised cry into a tangle of black feathers, smacking his head on the side of the toilet.

Footsteps padded down the hall and suddenly the door opened and Dean was standing over him, upside-down from Castiel's vantage point. The hunter was rubbing sleep from his eyes as he stared down at the angel incredulously.

"Dude, what the hell? Are you all right?"

Castiel tried to sit up, but found he was sitting on one of his wings and that sent him right back to the ground with a grunt of frustration. Dean moved into the room, nearly slipping himself.

"Geez, Cas, why's it so wet? No wonder you slipped." He crouched beside the angel who was finally getting himself untangled, holding his head where he had smacked it.

"I was just trying to stop the itching!" he moaned.

Dean gripped his shoulder with one hand, stopping him from going farther, and took his chin in the other, tilting his head so he could inspect the bump.

"Cas, that's what the shower is for! Now how hard did you hit your head? How many fingers am I holding up?"

Castiel frowned in confusion as Dean waved a hand in front of his face. "Three. But that's not the problem, my wings are infuriating!" They twitched even now and he reached back to claw at one.

Dean grabbed his hand though, yanking it away from his wing. "Whoa, you're tearing yourself up, stop it, or I'm gonna put socks on your hands! Come on, let's go run the shower again."

"It's the middle of the night," Castiel protested half heartedly as Dean started to haul him to his feet.

"So? We're not going to wake anyone up out there."

Castiel felt suddenly guilty for waking Dean up. Flashing of his nightmare came back to him, and fear dug its way into the pit of his stomach. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"No need," Dean told him calmly as he finally got him to his feet and nudged his shoulder toward the hallway and the stairs. "You're still fevered. After you take your shower, I'll give you another dose of Tylenol. You're about three hours overdue."

Castiel sighed heavily. "Thank you, Dean," he murmured as the elder Winchester hovered directly behind him on the stairs, making sure he didn't stumble.

"Anytime, Cas," Dean said softly, and Castiel realized just how silly his dream had been.

~~~~~~~

Dean ushered Cas out to the garage and started the water, making sure it wasn't freezing before Cas got in. He helped Cas strip to his boxers, forgoing the swim trunks in their urgency and then guided him into the tub. Cas sat down wearily, wrapping his arms around his drawn-up knees as his wings splayed to the sides. The guy looked like crap. Dean winced with sympathy as he flicked some more droplights on to see better and took in Cas' wings as he stretched them out.

He adjusted the shower pole he had rigged so that it was raining down on Cas' back and then dragged a stool over to sit down on, taking up a washcloth and the baby shampoo again.

He wet the cloth, made a lather, and then began to gently work it into Cas' feathers, especially the raw parts where the skin was completely showing through. Cas groaned and his wings twitched initially, but Dean kept it up, and pretty soon the angel seemed to find it more soothing than irritating. And it was no wonder he was having so many problems. Dean winced as he saw the irritated redness in the patches of bare skin. Some of it from Cas' fingernails, and other places…

He frowned, bending to look closer, almost getting his head in the stream of the shower. He could see dark spots covering some of the bare patches of skin, and when he ran a finger over them, realized they were hard. Cas jerked his wing at his deliberate touch and hissed in discomfort.

"Sorry," Dean told him, as he pressed the washcloth to the spot. "Cas, it's no wonder your wings are bothering you so much, you're getting new feathers in."

Cas craned his neck back over his shoulder, looking at Dean incredulously. "What?"

Dean gave him a blank look. "You're growing new feathers, dude. I thought that was kind of a given, you know? With the molting?"

Cas was silent for a while and Dean wondered if he'd said something wrong, but then the angel replied quietly, "I…wasn't sure they would grow back."

Dean stopped his motions with the washcloth and stared at the back of Cas' head. "What? Why?"

Cas hugged his arms tighter around his knees, head dipping to look into the tub. "An angel's wings are the closest physical manifestation we have to our grace. That's why we don't typically manifest them on the physical plane—it makes us more vulnerable. My grace was so weakened when I expelled the souls that I thought…well, I thought this molt was just my wings deteriorating."

Dean felt bile rise in his throat at the thought. He may never have seen Cas' wings in their true glory, but even ruined, he could tell, that, at one time, they had been damn impressive. Enough to make demons piss themselves in the heat of battle. He wasn't sure he could have stood to watch Cas' wings just fade away, likely taking the angel with them. He swallowed hard. "Well, it looks like you were wrong."

"Yes, it seems that my lack of grace has had a completely different effect after all."

"What do you mean?"

Cas shrugged, glancing over his shoulder at his wings. "This molt…it's not normal. Yes, angels molt, but it's not quite so…physical. My wings are acting more like a bird's would. Perhaps they too are more mortal now, like I am."

"Huh," Dean said, raising his eyebrows. "I guess it's a possibility. So what does that mean?"

Cas shook his head helplessly. "I have no idea. I have never known an angel who has had this happen to them."

"Well, don't worry about it, Cas. This is a good thing that you're growing feathers back. It means that it will stop eventually, right?"

Castiel sighed and hunched over wearily in the tub. "Not soon enough."

Dean completed working the soap into the arms of Cas' wings and then took the hose from the shower pole and sprayed the soap off. He let Cas sit on the stool afterwards while he blow-dried his feathers. By the time he was finishing, Cas' wings were drooping as if he couldn't hold them up anymore, and he was shivering slightly in the cool early morning. Dean frowned in concern. Cas really wasn't feeling too good and he still had a fever. Whether it was from the molt or not, he needed to make sure they got their angel taken care of better.

"Okay, I think you're dry," he said, offering Cas a hand up as his wings dragged on the ground. Cas staggered to his feet and started toward the door with a huge effort as Dean wrapped his towel around him.

Dean guided him into Bobby's study, figuring he could sleep on the couch. "I'll go grab you some new clothes."

He came back with a fresh pair of pajamas and a hooded sweatshirt. He left Cas to change out of the wet shorts and went to make some coffee, figuring it was too close to sunrise to go back to sleep now even if he didn't have a sick, molting angel to take care of.

When he came back to check on Cas, the angel had changed into his sweat pants, but didn't seem to have the strength to get a t-shirt and hoodie on, struggling with the shirt and only resulting in getting himself tangled. Cas growled in frustration.

"Here," Dean said and hurried over to his friend, sorting out the holes and then easing it over his sensitive wings. He did the same with the sweatshirt, and Cas instantly sank down against the side of the couch, his wings tucked up tightly against his back, eyes half closed.

Dean pressed the back of his hand against Cas' forehead and the angel batted it away.

"I'm fine," he snapped. "Let me sleep."

"Yeah, well, you're still fevered," Dean told him and went to grab the thermometer again. Cas sighed heavily when he saw it, a baleful look in his eyes that made Dean smirk and chuckle.

Cas didn't take that well. "I don't see what's funny, Dean."

"Nothin'. You just remind me of Sammy. You both turn into pissy divas when you're sick."

Cas grunted and tolerated the thermometer to be put into his mouth. Dean frowned as it beeped. "102, it's a little higher than earlier. You should have something to eat. Think you can manage something?"

Cas groaned and sank lower onto the couch, arms hugging his chest. "I'm not hungry. My stomach doesn't feel good."

"I know, but you've gotta eat, man, I can't throw the Tylenol down you on an empty stomach."

"My throat hurts too, I don't want anything touching it."

"How about some toast and orange juice? The juice will help your throat."

Cas sighed again, eyes narrowing. "Fine."

Dean hid his smirk as he turned back to the kitchen to grab the breakfast. When he came back, he helped Cas sit up and the angel took several sips of the juice.

"Better?" Dean asked him.

"A little," Cas replied. He ate most of the toast, and Dean gave him another dose of Tylenol before he let Cas settle down on the couch. It was kind of funny to watch him shuffle his wings around, curling up as if he were in a nest. Dean vaguely wondered whether angels had nests in heaven. Probably not, that was silly.

He went to get a cup of coffee and sat down to drink it as he pursued the internet. He stayed away from news sites purposefully. While getting out of the house to hunt sounded good, he didn't want to leave Cas here either. Even though he was sure Cas would understand, Dean was determined to show the angel just how much he and Sam cared about him. Cas was still pretty insecure after all the lies (and some truths) that Samyaza bastard had fed him, and Dean didn't want to chance doing anything Cas might read as abandonment. Besides, he and Sam were still sort of recovering from their trip through Hell too. Their injuries might have been mostly scars now, but it had been an ordeal he did not want to have to repeat. And Dean would be lying if he said he was sleeping well after going back there. Especially after that moment with the souls…there had been all too many times the last few weeks when he had woken up with a scream caught in his throat, either dreaming he was under Alastair's knife, or it was in his hand. He didn't know which was worse.

So yeah, they could hold off hunting for a while. Wait until everyone was recovered, and then they could take Cas with them.

Bobby and Sam joined him before too long and grabbed their own coffee. Bobby glanced toward the study.

"How's Feathers?" he asked gruffly.

"He didn't sleep that well," Dean told him, rubbing a tired hand over his face. "But his feathers are actually growing back, so there's that."

Sam smiled at that news. "So I guess that means everything's going okay, right?"

"Yeah, I guess, but why is he having such a hard time with it?" Dean said quietly. "I mean, we don't even know what normal is in this instance."

"When do we ever?" Bobby asked wryly. "We'll just take this as it comes like we usually do."

Dean sighed and closed his laptop. "Well, I guess we should just be thankful this is only molting."

"It could be worse," Sam agreed.

Yeah, they could have lost Cas altogether. Dean swallowed hard and got up from the table, remembering the state they had found the angel in when he had been under Samyaza's charge. For a moment back there, he'd thought they wouldn't be able to get Cas out at all, that he would refuse to come back with them. It made Dean sick to recall that moment of fear when we didn't know whether he would be able to talk Cas down from the ledge—again. But they had, Cas was with them now, and they were going to do everything in their power to prove to the angel that he was wanted.

So really, they couldn't be defeated by something like molting. Not after everything else they had been through.


	5. And sweetest in the gale is heard

Later, after Dean woke up more and got dressed, he decided to make another run into town.

"I'm going to pick up some stuff for chicken soup," he told Sam. Cas was still sleeping restlessly on the couch, looking uncomfortable. Dean was hoping he might be willing to eat something when he got up, so he figured making some actual chicken soup that didn't come from a can might entice the angel more. He'd never really tried to make chicken soup before, but figured it couldn't be that hard. There was a first time for everything.

"Good idea," Sam replied. "Don't worry, I'll look after him."

"Okay, I gave him his dose of Tylenol about three hours ago, so don't give him any while I'm gone."

"We'll be fine, Dean," Sam said with a longsuffering look. Dean narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything. He just grabbed his jacket and keys and went out to run his errands.

As he was pulling up to the grocery store though, he caught sight of a pet store just across the street from it. He frowned, contemplating, then shrugged. "What the hell? It can't hurt."

He pulled up to the pet store and went inside, looking around at all the dog and cat toys, and the fish tanks and terrariums where smaller animals like hamsters and guinea pigs waited to be taken to their homes. He stopped by a large cage full of chirping, brightly colored parakeets.

"Can I help you?" came a voice behind him.

"Ah, yeah," Dean said, turning around to see a pretty brunet standing there. He smiled at her, reading her nametag. "Uh, Jenny? Well, um, I actually had a couple questions. You see I have a…uh…cockatoo, and he's having some issues with his molt."

Jenny frowned slightly. "It's a little late in the season for molting."

"Yeah, I know, but he's kind of under the weather."

"Well, has he experienced any stressful situations lately? That can sometimes cause the bird to go through a tough molt."

Heh, stressful was kind of putting it lightly. "Uh, yeah. We recently…moved."

"Ah, that can be stressful," she said sympathetically. "Are you sure he's not just plucking feathers?"

Dean refrained from smirking. "No, he's just losing them. But he is really itchy—scratching a lot."

"That's common with molts. Growing feathers is kind of like having your adult teeth come in. It's painful and irritating. Have you been giving him baths regularly?"

"Yeah, that's actually one of the few things that does help," Dean told her, glad he had done something right.

"Well, that will help the new feathers come in. It's important to keep his skin from getting dry as that will cause the feathers to grow poorly or even come in ragged and badly formed," she said. "You can also look into vitamin supplements. It's important for birds to be healthy when they're molting—that may be one of the reasons your bird is having trouble. A lot of times your typical seed mixes don't really have enough vitamins."

"Ah," Dean said, thinking about all the pancakes and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches Cas had taken to since needing to eat. Not exactly the most nutritious things in the world. "I will definitely look into that."

Jenny smiled. "I'm sure your cockatoo will be okay soon, once he settles in. Just make sure he's comfortable, give him baths, and make sure he gets some sunlight every day. That's good for birds at any time. Just make him feel at home, maybe with some of the things he's used to since he's in a new place. It's also important he gets plenty of rest, so don't be alarmed if he sleeps a lot during the day."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, okay, thanks."

"How long have you had him?" she asked.

"Oh, uh, not too long…" Dean said, getting more awkward with the fabricated bird story. "This is the first molt he's been through with me."

"Well, I'm sure you'll figure things out eventually, just don't fret," Jenny told him with a smile. "I've actually got some print outs on tips for helping your bird through molts if you'd like some."

Dean smiled. "That would be great."

He followed her up front and she grabbed several pages of information. "Feel free to come back here, or call anytime you have any questions. Let me know if you need help with anything."

"Thanks, Jenny, you've already helped a lot," Dean assured her as he took the papers and gave her one last smile before he left the store. Okay, so not as bad as he thought. He could deal with this.

Flipping through the pamphlet she had given him as he made his way back to the Impala, Dean saw what types of vitamins were recommended, and mentally added them to his list for the store.

He did his grocery shopping, picking up the stuff for chicken soup, and in addition, the vitamins that were suggested for birds in molt—though he got the human equivalents, of course. He didn't think Cas would appreciate snacking on birdseed.

As an afterthought, he headed toward the home section of the store and looked around, wondering if he could find anything that might make Cas more comfortable. He knew the bed wasn't the best place for him to sleep, but there wasn't much they could do about that, so if there was a way he could make it more comfortable…

Dean frowned thoughtfully as he caught sight of a stack of body pillows. Those might help pillow Cas' wings a little better and keep him from rolling onto his feathers in the middle of the night. Dean grabbed two in a bright blue color that reminded him of the tie Cas always used to wear, and added them to the cart.

Satisfied with his purchases he headed back to Bobby's house where he found Sam trying to coax some more orange juice into Cas, but the angel was being stubborn again.

"Didn't it make you feel better earlier?" Sam tried to reason.

Cas just stared balefully at him, looking like complete crap. "I just don't want anything in my stomach," he croaked.

"Hey," Dean said as he came in from unloading the food bags in the kitchen. "You feeling any better?"

Cas glowered at him. "What does it look like?"

Dean's eyes widened. "Geez, Cas, sorry. Look, if your stomach is messed up, I got you some ginger ale and saltines. That will help, promise."

Cas didn't look convinced, but he didn't protest either, simply sinking against the side of the couch again, his wings slumping listlessly at his sides. Dean realized how exhausted he looked and decided it was time to get him back into bed.

"Sam, why don't you help Cas back upstairs, I'll be up in a second with a few things."

Sam nodded and stood, reaching down to offer Cas a steadying hand. "Come on, Cas, you'll be more comfortable in bed."

The angel sighed, but stood. "Yes, I am very tired."

Dean went back to the kitchen to start rooting through the stuff he had bought, putting the cold things away. Bobby came to join him, raising an eyebrow at the body pillows he had propped up in a chair.

"What's all this?" the older hunter asked.

Dean shrugged. "Thought those might be more comfortable for Cas to rest his wings on. Hey, hand me that ginger ale, would you?"

Bobby handed him the pack of cans and Dean took one before putting the rest in the fridge. He poured it into a glass with ice so it would be cold and rooted through the other bags until he came up with the saltines and the bottles of vitamins. "Apparently vitamins are good for birds in molt," Dean explained. "Cas is kinda acting like a malnourished bird. I think that may be one of the reasons he's having so much trouble. Apparently stress and trauma can add to the issues too."

Bobby nodded. "Well, it would make sense, I suppose. And he has been through quite a lot of stress lately."

"Yeah," Dean replied blandly. "Can you help me with this stuff?"

Bobby rolled his eyes slightly, but loaded a tray with the stuff for Cas, as Dean grabbed the pillows and they trooped upstairs together.

Both Sam and Cas turned to them as the door opened and looked with confusion, and some amusement from Sam's quarter, when they saw the pillows.

"What are those?" Cas asked groggily.

"These are for your wings," Dean said with a slightly self-conscious shrug. "Thought they might make it easier to rest."

Cas looked interested and Dean set them aside for now as he took the tray from Bobby. "I also got some vitamins for you to take. It's supposed to help your feathers grow in better."

Cas gave him a petulant look that reminded him a lot of little Sammy. "Is that really necessary?"

"Considering you're running a fever and have some kind of bird flu, yeah," Dean said a bit more harshly than he had intended. Sam shot him a look, but it seemed to quell Cas' protests for the moment as Dean set the tray on the bedside table and scooped up the vitamins. "We'll see how you do with these for the next few days, and if you start to feel better, that means it's working."

Cas heaved a heavy sigh and took the pills, swallowing them with the orange juice that Sam had brought up for him, making a face. "My stomach still doesn't feel good," he muttered.

"That's what the ginger ale is for," Dean told him, picking up the other glass and pressing it into Cas' hand. "Sip it for a while, and then try some of the crackers. They'll help settle your stomach."

Cas did as he was told and the ginger ale did seem to be working because he soon began to nibble on some crackers. Dean took that opportunity to take the pillows he had bought and put them on either side of the bed where Cas' wings usually spilled over the sides.

"You can adjust these the way you want them, but I thought they might help if you rested your wings on them instead of the bed itself."

Cas glanced at them as he finished with his ginger ale and crackers and then began to get comfortable. Sam and Dean had to help position the pillows just right, but eventually Cas got into what actually looked like a comfortable position, resting on his stomach with the bent arms of his wings cushioned by the pillows.

"How's that?" Dean asked him.

"Not bad, actually," Cas replied tiredly.

Dean smiled. "Good. Now you should take a nap. I'll make up some fresh, homemade chicken soup and it will be ready for you when you wake up."

Cas murmured something, his eyes already sliding shut. Dean glanced at Sam and they quietly left the room.

"Well, the pillows seem to have been a good idea," Sam offered as they walked back downstairs.

Dean shrugged. "I hope they can help him get comfortable a little bit. I know the bed's not ideal, but I mean, does he need a nest? Would that be insulting to ask?"

Sam cast him a sideways glance. "Like that's stopped you before."

Dean glared back. "I have tact!" Sam snorted and continued into the kitchen where Dean began to pull out the stuff he would need to make soup. "So I talked to a lady at the pet store while I was out."

Sam's eyebrows raised up to his hairline. "What? About Cas? What did you say?"

Dean shrugged. "I said my cockatoo was having molting issues. She was very helpful—and hot." He dug through the bags and pulled out the papers Jenny had given him, handing them to Sam. "That's why I got the vitamins. She said they were supposed to help his feathers grow out better."

"Huh," Sam said, scanning the papers. "Well, we got the showering right. It also says here that high protein diets are recommended."

"Yep, no rabbit food—steak and eggs," Dean said with a smirk in Sam's direction. "No more pancakes either though, at least not without bacon and eggs and stuff. We'll get him back to health." And they would. Cas may be pretty bad off at the moment, but Dean knew that with the proper care—now that they knew exactly what that was—he would be back on his feet soon enough. And his new feathers would grow in and Cas could go on with his life, or, well, the new life they were helping him create.

"You think Cas is doing okay?" Sam asked after a few minutes as Dean gathered vegetables and potatoes and began to wash them in the sink.

Dean glanced over his shoulder. "Well, I mean, considering the circumstances, I wouldn't say he's doing too terrible. I mean, the poor dude is miserable because he's sick. And it turns out he bitches almost more than you do. And, you know, apart from that, we're all still kind of working things out." Dean gave a wry expression. "When are we not? But even if it takes a while, I'm sure he'll be back to his old self eventually."

"But he's not really his old self, Dean," Sam insisted. "At least not the way he sees it. He's practically human, he went through, well, Hell, Dean. That changes you."

"You think I don't know that?" Dean asked blandly, hand clenching into a fist as screams echoed in his head as they always did when Hell was mentioned—especially after all that being refreshed for him so recently.

"That's my point; you understand," Sam said softly. "You understand how hard it is to come back from that. I may not remember what happened in the Cage, but that hole, what's not there, that still eats at me. Sometimes it's all I can do to keep my mind of what might have happened."

Dean's stomach twisted at the thought too as he turned back around to the table with a cutting board and the washed vegetables. "I know, Sammy. Which is why we are really some of the few people qualified to get Cas back on his feet, because we do know what he's going through. I mean, some of it. At least it wasn't our own family who sent us there." He shook his head, anger at the angels for their hatred of Cas who had just been trying to do whatever he could to help them, boiling over inside of him. "I swear, if I ever get my hands on any of those feathered dicks again…"

"It wouldn't change anything, Dean," Sam sighed. "The best thing we can do is give Cas a new family like we told him we would. Become his new brothers so he doesn't have to depend on the angels anymore. He can depend on us instead."

"Yeah, we just have to get him to see we're not gonna turn on him too," Dean muttered darkly, taking up his knife. "We got a lot of repair work to do, Sammy. Me especially."

Sam gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm sure Cas has forgiven you, Dean."

"That doesn't make it right." Memories of the few hours before Cas went to Hell flashed through Dean's mind, making him squeeze his eyes shut. Cas' face when he refused to hear the angel's apology, the regret and pain in Cas' voice as he said goodbye before going off to release the souls back into Purgatory, so sure that he wouldn't survive…

"Dean," Sam's voice cut through his dark thoughts. "This is a new start for all of us, remember?"

Dean swallowed hard, taking a deep breath and nodded sharply. "Damn right. Now come help me make this soup, bitch."

~~~~~~~

Castiel woke later, feeling groggy still, but not quite so bad as he had before. His body was still achy, and his wings still itched and felt sensitive, but his stomach didn't feel quite as sick and his head didn't ache so much either. Maybe he was starting to get better.

He shuffled around to sit up clumsily, and remembered the pillows tucked up under each of his wings. He eyed them gratefully, realizing that they had helped him sleep more comfortably.

He was feeling very thirsty though, and decided to head downstairs.

It was late afternoon, and Bobby was sitting in his study, looking at the computer, while Sam and Dean flipped through books. They all looked up as Castiel came in and he felt slightly self-conscious as he caught their attention.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said with a small smile. "Feeling any better?"

He shrugged, still not entirely sure. "A little maybe." His voice was still rough, and his throat sore, but not as bad as before.

"Good," Dean said and stood from the couch, ushering Castiel over to sit down. "Sam, why don't you go grab Cas some of that soup. I'm gonna take your temperature again."

Castiel sighed wearily as he sank onto the couch, shuffling his wings out of the way. "Again?" he asked blandly.

"Yeah, dude," Dean said, as he retrieved the thermometer. "Just want to monitor your fever."

Castiel's fever had gone down to 100 degrees in the past few hours so he did seem to be improving. Sam brought him a bowl of the chicken soup and he had to admit he wasn't entirely opposed to it. It looked very hearty and it smelled appealing. He took a cautious spoonful and sipped at the broth.

"How is that?" Dean asked anxiously.

Castiel nodded. "It's good, thank you."

Dean beamed. "You don't have to finish it all now either, but try to eat as much as you can."

Castiel did as he was told and with his stomach as full as he wanted it, and warm with the homemade soup, he stretched out on the couch as Dean turned on the TV and flipped to an old movie channel. Castiel found that he was perfectly fine with spending the rest of his day like that, close to these men who had become his new family.

Perhaps everything would turn out okay in the end after all.


	6. And sore much be the storm

After a couple more days of lots of sleep, vitamins, and chicken soup, Castiel began to feel better. His fever disappeared at least, and though he still felt a bit rundown, and his wings continued to do their best at driving him mad, he was beginning to see that he could get through this. His feathers were growing in slowly, but they were growing in, which was better than he had expected when he had woken up back on Earth and seen the state his wings were in after Samyaza's tortures.

And despite his continuous nightmares and trepidations, Sam and Dean, and even Bobby, had been nothing but supportive. In fact, especially in Dean's case, they'd been almost smothering. Castiel understood that they wanted to make sure he was okay, and had everything he needed—and yes, he was still somewhat bad about asking for the things he required—but Dean could be rather, well, grating, after a while, especially when he kept insisting on shoving food down Castiel's throat at every possible moment. Of course, all the protein-rich food Dean was feeding him did seem to be giving him more energy.

But the itching…

Dean found him scratching one morning as Castiel sat at the kitchen table, waiting for the omelet Dean had promptly started to make him as soon as he rose that morning. Dean glared as he caught him at it, rapping his hand with the spatula.

"Hey, stop it! You don't want to damage your new quills."

"I'm being careful," he grunted, surreptitiously rubbing one wing on the back of his chair.

"Still," Dean replied as he plated the omelet and set it in front of the angel. "Guess it's time for another shower after breakfast."

Castiel refrained from sighing. Though the showers were one of the few things that offered him relief, they too were getting tedious. But he knew he would feel better afterward so he didn't complain out loud. He just ate his omelet instead.

After he finished, he changed into the swim trunks and sat in the tub in the garage as Dean helped wash his wings.

After they had finished, Dean turned the water off and handed Castiel a towel. "You know, why don't you sit out in the sun to dry your wings? It's a pretty warm day and I need to wash the Impala."

The idea of the sun on his aching wings sounded very nice, and Castiel nodded in agreement. He grabbed the towel and the soft brush Dean had bought him so he could try working loose some of the feathers that still needed to come out. He followed Dean out to where the Impala was parked and spread his towel on the hood of one of Bobby's broken down cars before perching there and stretching his wet wings out, flapping them a couple times to release excess water droplets before he just sat and let the sun do the rest.

The warmth and the fresh air felt amazing on his wings and his skin. He closed his eyes and sat there happily as he listened to Dean shuffling around with the hose and a bucket of suds while he sang quietly along to the radio. This was actually the best Castiel had felt in a long time.

"Hey guys, need some refreshments?"

Castiel opened his eyes to see Sam coming up with a smile, two bottles of beer and a glass or orange juice in his hands. The juice he handed to Castiel and then he gave Dean one of the bottles.

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean said, taking a break and leaning against the Impala's damp bumper, popping the bottle open.

"How does it feel to get some fresh air, Cas?" Sam turned to the angel.

Castiel took a sip of his juice. "It's very nice, especially after being cooped up inside, sick for so long," he admitted. "I should have tried this earlier."

"Well, you could really use some sun," Dean said, a slightly concerned look in his eyes.

Castiel cast a somewhat self-conscious glance down at his exposed skin, the still fresh, pink scars that traced over his chest and arms. His skin had grown rather pale, and his body was more gaunt than usual. Of course, that was probably because he had to nourish it like any human now as opposed to just maintaining the vessel with his grace. He thought wryly that it wasn't even a vessel anymore. Jimmy had long since gone to Heaven, and now that Castiel's grace was so low, this body was as much a part of him as his true form—more so probably. Just like his wings, he was very corporeal now. A pit formed in his stomach as he wondered whether these scars would even ever go away, or if they were a permanent part of him now.

"Don't worry, Cas, once you get back to health you'll have more energy," Sam assured him and pushed off from the Impala's bumper where he had been sitting next to Dean and came over to Castiel. He picked up the brush that the angel had forgotten in his appreciation of the sun. "Can I help you brush some of your feathers out?"

Castiel inclined his head. "Yes, thank you, that would be appreciated."

Castiel relaxed again as Sam began to brush his wings and Dean went back to washing the car. The steady motions of Sam's ministrations were very soothing. Even though his wings were even more sensitive now with the fresh quills coming in, the brushing motion was akin to preening for a bird, and it helped to push the quills through and get rid of a lot of the dry bits flaking off of the new shafts as they came in.

It was so relaxing, actually, that he found himself nodding off, not realizing it until Sam clapped a hand to his shoulder, pushing him backwards before he fell face-first off the car.

"Woah, you okay?" he asked.

Castiel smiled, somewhat embarrassed. "It's just very relaxing, I almost fell asleep." It had been a long time since someone had groomed his feathers for him. He had almost forgotten how good it felt.

Sam grinned. "Well, I think I got most of the strays out, and you didn't lose nearly as many this time, so I think you've probably lost about as many as you're going to right now."

Castiel spread his sparsely feathered wings, inspecting them. "I've lost about all of the coverets at least. More of the primaries may fall out later, it usually takes them longer to come in. There's not many of them left, though; they were quite damaged." He shuddered again as flashes from Hell came back, and felt suddenly cold.

Sam noticed his shivering, and patted him on the shoulder. "Come on, the breeze is kind of chilly and we don't want you to catch cold again. Your wings are dry now anyway. How about some lunch?"

Castiel nodded, admitting that he was feeling hungry even though he had eaten an omelet not too long ago, and followed Sam back inside.

He spent the rest of the day reading quietly and actually felt rather good. Better than he had since he had gotten back from Hell—and for that matter, far better than he had for a long time prior to Hell. He was enjoying his book, and loved listening to Sam and Dean's brotherly bickering as they got stuff ready for dinner, accompanied by Bobby's sardonic comments.

The only thing was that Castiel still wasn't really sure he fit in, at least not yet. He was still learning how to live this life—this normal, everyday life. It was so different from anything he had known before, that it was no wonder he felt like an outsider.

He just wondered if he would ever stop feeling that way.

Darkness and doubt eked back into his chest and he closed his book quietly. Perhaps he wasn't feeling better quite yet.

~~~~~~

Then of course, the nightmares came again that night.

This time he was back in Hell, Samyaza was burning his wings with holy fire, and Castiel was calling for Sam and Dean—anyone—to come and save him. The pain was too much to bear, but Samyaza didn't stop. The more he cried for help, the more the fallen angel would hurt him, telling him it was for his own good and that he deserved it.

But no matter how much he cried out, how many times he prayed, Sam and Dean never came.

"See, Castiel?" Samyaza asked him. "They know this is where you belong. Pain is all you are good for. Now, shall we finish what we started?" He held up a jug of holy oil and began to pour it over Castiel's wings…

Castiel woke with a gasp, curled on his side, his right wing aching almost as if it were feeling the effects of the dream as he could still hear the echo of Samyaza's words in his head as well as his own screams. But he was just lying on it, he realized. One of the body pillows had fallen on the floor in his distressed tossing, and he had rolled onto his wing in his sleep.

He bit his lip as he pushed himself up, and gingerly straightened the wing out, turning the light on to see if there was any damage. He had crushed some of his primaries, a couple having fallen out in the bed, and several of his new quills had been pulled or rubbed too harshly against the mattress, and were bleeding. He swallowed hard. There wasn't much he could do about that, unfortunately.

He collected his pillow again and settled back onto his stomach as comfortably as he could, letting out a long sigh as he fought back the terror that still had his heart racing. He didn't know what was worse—the way he had actually felt in Hell where he had been in so much pain but didn't have any hope of being saved, or the idea the nightmare had given him, wanting to be saved, but knowing no one was coming for him.

He wondered why his subconscious chose to plague him like this. Perhaps it was because, deep down, his worst fear was that eventually those dreams would become a reality. When he had been in Hell, he had never in a million years expected that the Winchesters would come for him—it had been impossible to conceive the notion. But of course, the Winchesters were impossible men; if anyone could have pulled it off it would be them. But to do it for him? A broken, fallen, practically graceless angel who had almost broken the world? He supposed he just couldn't see why they would bother. He was grateful, yes, touched, especially with the passionate speech they had given him after he woke, telling him that this was a new start and he was part of their family, but…well, it certainly wouldn't be the first time Castiel had been burned by the people he cared about most. Ones he thought truly cared about him in turn.

He spent a restless night, sleepless, scared to experience more dreams, and trying to keep the worry that they might come true from eating at him. He tried to read, but his wing also hurt and he was feeling more and more miserable as the night went on and he still couldn't sleep.

By the time he heard the Winchesters and Bobby up and about, he was just feeling rundown and exhausted, but he pulled himself from bed anyway eventually, and made his way down to the kitchen where Dean was making coffee and Sam was sitting at the table with a bowl of cereal. They looked up as Castiel came in, seeming slightly surprised to see him up so early.

"Hey, Cas, you doing okay?" Dean asked.

Castiel grunted and slumped at the table, wincing as his right wing jarred. It was still a bit sore from his unintentional injuries the night before. Dean's attention was instantly grabbed and he put down the coffee pot and came over.

"What's wrong? Did you hurt yourself?"

Castiel folded his wings closer to his body, trying to keep the right one mostly out of Dean's sight. "I'm fine. I just didn't sleep well."

Dean wasn't buying it and bent closer, grabbing Castiel's shoulder to make sure he couldn't run away. "Dude, you're bleeding, what the hell happened?"

Castiel yanked his wing away. "It's fine, just leave it."

Sam looked across the table at him in concern. "Did you hurt yourself while you were sleeping?"

"You better not have been scratching," Dean said blandly, taking ahold of Castiel's wing and trying to inspect it closer.

"I wasn't scratching!" Castiel snapped. "And I'm fine! Would you just let me be?"

Dean backed away as if he had stuck him, a look of hurt mixed with anger on his face. "Well, I apologize for being concerned. I haven't exactly been getting you back to health the past few weeks just for you to go and hurt yourself!"

That made Castiel snap for some reason and he pushed out of his chair, causing Dean to jump back as his tattered wings flared up in anger and defense as he spun toward the elder Winchester. "Well, then maybe you shouldn't have wasted so much time!"

"Cas!" Dean cried, shocked. "You know that's not what I meant."

Castiel shook his head. "Whatever. I can take care of myself too, you know. I'm not completely impotent yet!"

"Cas, hey, Dean wasn't suggesting that," Sam tried in a calm voice, standing up as well. "We were just worried, that's all."

"And I said I'm fine. I just lost a couple feathers while I was sleeping," Castiel told them stiffly. "When I can sleep anyway. Now, I think I'm going to go try again. I believe I got up prematurely."

And with that, he spun on his heel before either him or Dean could say something they would really regret, and left the kitchen, heading back upstairs to the room and the bed he had come to dread.

~~~~~~~

"Cas!" Dean called as the angel left the room in a swirl of bristling wings. He was about to follow him when Sam grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back.

"Let him cool off a bit, Dean," Sam said quietly. "You'll both just end up making it worse if you try to talk now."

Dean spun around to glare at his brother. "I wasn't trying to start anything!"

"I know," Sam said reasonably. "But you know Cas is irritable right now, and I'm sure he's exhausted. He obviously didn't sleep last night. I think he might have hurt himself during a nightmare and is ashamed to admit it."

"He was bleeding!" Dean insisted. "You don't think we should check on him?"

"Later," Sam coaxed. "It didn't look too bad. Probably was just from a couple pulled feathers. We can check up on him later when we can convince him not to take offense."

"I don't get it, I thought we were helping avoid these kinds of situations."

Sam sighed. "Dean, you know as well as I do how annoying it can be when people are constantly wondering if you're okay. And you are kinda intense about it sometimes. As someone who's been on the receiving end, I should know."

Dean glowered, folding his arms across his chest, but his anger was already dissipating. "Yeah well you and Cas both can be impossible to take care of, especially when you insist on hiding things from me all the time."

"Wow," Sam replied blandly. "Pot, kettle much?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Shut up, bitch, you know what I mean."

"So do you, jerk," Sam replied with a fond smile and clapped his brother on the shoulder again. "We'll figure Cas out later, okay? Just let him have some time to himself. He probably really could use some more rest. That will probably make him feel a lot better."

"Yeah, alright," Dean muttered, still anxious about Cas' wing, but at the same time, he did see what Sammy was saying, and the wing hadn't looked that bad really. But the only problem was now he was going to feel awkward offering any assistance to Cas, afraid that the angel would take offense. He sighed inwardly. Sometimes he wished he had better people skills.

He did manage to occupy himself with other things though while he waited for Cas to reemerge from his room. He helped Bobby with some research he needed to do for another hunter, and then fixed up one of his old jackets for Cas since the weather was getting cooler and he wasn't sure how long the angel would need to keep his wings corporeal. He wanted to try to get Cas outside more too since it had seemed to help quite a bit getting him into the sun.

Once he finished that, he went to grab a beer, planning on just sitting and watching some TV when he heard Bobby complaining from the study, phone pressed to his ear.

"Well, sure, I can do it, but that's beside the point, Saul! I can't just run the phones constantly while you go off to Europe for a nice vacation! I've gotta sleep too." Dean wandered back in, raising his eyebrows at the older hunter as Bobby rolled his. "Yeah, well, you too, Saul," he said and slammed the phone back in the receiver.

"What's going on?" Dean asked, setting a bottle of beer down in front of Bobby.

"That son of a bitch Saul Martin," Bobby told him.

"That hunter who's been helping you with the phones?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Bobby muttered darkly. "That damned slacker can't pull his own weight; it's not like I don't have enough to do already."

"Yeah, but what are we gonna do, Bobby?" Dean shrugged. "There's not anyone else who has the resources. We're stuck with him until we can find a better arrangement."

"Never thought he was cut out for being a hunter anyway," Bobby grumbled and popped open his beer, taking a few long moments just to drink. "He just doesn't seem to realize we're all picking up the slack after Rufus passed. And that man was damned lazy, and made excuses like nobody's business, but at least he got the job done when it was needed."

Dean smiled sadly and sat in the chair on the opposite side of Bobby's desk. "Yeah, he did. But I guess we're just gonna have to face the facts that we're not gonna find another hunter like Rufus."

"No, we sure ain't," Bobby said quietly, taking a long drink and making a face. "I think I need something stronger than this."

Dean nodded. "Not gonna argue with that."

~~~~~~~

Castiel dozed a little bit upstairs but mostly he just lay there on the bed, playing the conversation he'd had with Dean over in his head. Maybe he hadn't been really fair to the elder Winchester. Dean had just been trying to help, after all. And he had helped nurse Castiel back to health, he and Sam both had. And Castiel was grateful, but sometimes Dean could be too smothering. He smiled slightly. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. He had witnessed the same actions turned toward Sam on more than one occasion, so in some skewed way, Castiel thought it was most likely a mark of caring on Dean's part. Castiel certainly wasn't much better with that sort of thing so he didn't really have much to say on the matter.

He sighed as he rolled carefully onto his side, reaching back to try and scratch his wings—gently. They were itching again, and even though he didn't really want to leave the solitude of his room just yet, he knew he should probably go take his daily shower and wash the dried blood from his wing too before it made him itch more. He should probably also make sure that none of the new quills had been damaged.

He got out of bed, and went to the bathroom to grab his towel and change into his bathing suit. Maybe he would approach Dean and ask him to help. It was hard for him to shampoo his wings himself and the moisturizing effects seemed to help more than just the warm water alone. And that should offer an appropriate olive branch to let Dean know that his care was appreciated and that Castiel did still require his help on occasion.

He shuffled downstairs quietly, awkwardly running through the inevitable meeting with Dean again and how to phrase his request for assistance in a way that was sincere and would hopefully not offend, when his ears caught frustrated voices coming from Bobby's study.

He stopped right at the door, wondering if he should interrupt. Bobby's voice came to him from where he stood.

"That damned slacker can't pull his own weight; it's not like I don't have enough to do already!"

"Yeah, but what are we gonna do, Bobby?" he heard Dean reply. "There's not anyone else who has the resources. We're stuck with him until we can find a better arrangement."

"Never thought he was cut out for being a hunter anyway," Bobby added.

Castiel pulled back quickly before they realized he was eavesdropping, his stomach roiling and his breath catching in his throat. Damned slacker. Better arrangement. Stuck with him.

His throat suddenly felt very tight and he hurried out the back door and made his way to the garage himself. His nightmare was becoming a reality after all. They did think he was a burden, and why shouldn't they? He wasn't doing anything useful; in fact, he was keeping the Winchesters from hunting, taking up all their time looking after him. Dean had been right to be angry with him that morning, it wouldn't be fair if he injured himself further as that would only make more work for the Winchesters.

He silently turned on the water himself, waiting for it to warm before he half-heartedly stripped out of his shirt and sank into the tub, letting the water rain down on his shoulders and over his limp wings. A feather fell into the tub and he wondered how much longer it would take him for his feathers to grow back completely. Once he could fly again, he would leave the Winchesters, let them go back to their lives. Not be a burden to them anymore.

He wrapped his arms around his knees, hugging himself tight and waited for the water to soak into his wings before he started running the brush through them. All the time Samyaza's voice echoed through his head, telling truths he had refused to believe before, but now, really had no choice but to do so.

Once he was done washing and the water had started to go cold, he got out, shook his wings out and then trooped outside to the spot he had sat in before on the hood of the car.

It was peaceful out here, and he wasn't bothering anyone, so he sat cross-legged and hugged his arms against his pale, scarred chest, spreading his wings half-heartedly to the sun as he wondered what he was going to do when it was inevitably time for him to leave. He dug his fingers into his arms, moisture pricking at the backs of his eyes as he realized how terrible he would be on his own when he could barely even cook for himself. He didn't know much about living as a human, not on his own. Nor how to provide for himself. He wondered how long it would be before he starved to death or met some other fate just as unsavory.

Before long the meager sunlight that had been shining on him went away too, and he was left with damp wings in a chill breeze, all alone, and feeling even more so with the realization that this is what it was going to be like soon enough. As soon as the Winchesters found 'other arrangements' for him.

He shivered, wrapping what was left of his wings around him, and thought wretchedly of the future.


	7. That could abash the little bird

Dean stood at the kitchen counter, mashing hamburger into patties for dinner. His secret ingredient was minced onions and a little barbeque sauce—he'd even gotten Sam to admit they were good so he called that a win.

Sam came into the kitchen then, a frown between his brows. Dean glanced over his shoulder. "What's up with you?"

"Have you seen Cas at all this afternoon?" Sam asked him.

"No, I was giving him his space, like you told me to; why?"

"I just went up to his room to see how he was doing and tell him it was almost dinner time but he's not up there," Sam replied, worry in his voice.

Dean settled the patties into the frying pan and went to wash his hands. "I'm sure nothing's wrong, Sammy, he probably went out to take a shower."

Sam nodded but looked unconvinced. "Yeah, but usually he asks one of us to help him. It's easier to have someone else shampoo his wings."

"Well, let's go see if he's out there before we panic," Dean said reasonably. "I've been helping Bobby all day with hunting research. That douchebag Saul bailed on answering phones this weekend so it looks like Bobby's going to be stuck to his desk for the next few days."

"We can take shifts. I know Bobby's better at it, but we can pull our weight," Sam said with a shrug. "I guess we'll have to find someone else to help out though. I never did like Saul."

"Me either, just never seemed cut out for this life." Dean stopped with a frown as they got to the garage, seeing the door left slightly open but no Cas. "Huh."

Sam went over to the tub, leaning over to look in it. "Still wet, and here's his shirt," he said, picking up a grey t-shirt with two slits in the back.

Dean stomach tightened. Where was Cas? Worst case scenarios started piling into his head—the angels finding him, carting him off to Heaven or even Hell again. Crowley's demons dragging him back to the King of Hell in punishment for screwing him over… the list was endless.

But his hunter's brain was telling him that there were no signs of struggle, and if angels or demons had come knocking, wouldn't they have taken out the rest of them as well, on principle?

"Come on," Dean told Sam and they hurried outside into the junkyard, scanning the area.

"Cas?" Sam called, and he and Dean continued their search.

Dean finally rounded the other side of the garage where he had parked the Impala to wash her the day before and sighed in relief as he saw Cas sitting on one of the cars.

"Cas, there you are!" he cried, then over his shoulder, "Sam, I found him!" But as he got closer he instantly saw that something was wrong.

Cas wasn't sunning his wings, for one, obviously, there was no sun—it had been overcast and chilly that day, and his wings looked dull and limp, wrapped around his body as he slumped over his drawn up knees. Dean quickened his pace.

"Cas, what the hell are you doing?" he demanded, reaching out to grab the angel's shoulder, but ended up grabbing one of his wings instead, finding damp feathers under his hand. "Dammit. Cas, it's cold out here and you're still wet!"

"I'm sorry," the angel murmured, looking down at the ground instead of at Dean.

Sam appeared at his side, bending to look Cas in the eye. "Cas, hey, are you all right?" he asked anxiously.

"I'm fine," Cas replied and unfolded his wings from around him, which instantly sent a shiver through his too-thin body as his skin came in contact with the air.

"Alright, enough of this," Dean snapped. "You're freezing, Cas!"

"The sun went away," the angel said dejectedly as he allowed Sam and Dean to help him off of the car, still only wearing his damp swim trunks and shivering between the brothers. His wings shuddered and pressed tightly against his back, curling around him as best they could with so few feathers.

"Why didn't you come ask us to help you use the blow drier?" Sam asked gently.

Cas shrugged. "Didn't want to bother anyone."

"Didn't want to…" Dean snapped his mouth shut before he said anything else he was going to regret that day. "You know what, I can't do this right now. I'm gonna go get you some warm clothes, Cas. Sam, help him dry his wings off."

Dean left his brother and the stubborn angel and hurried off back to the house, jaw clenched in anger. Anger at himself.

This could only be his fault. He had pushed Cas too far that morning, and the angel had snapped, decided to take care of himself, probably to prove to Dean that he still could, and now he had frozen himself half to death out there for who knows how long! In his weakened condition Dean would be surprised if he didn't contract another fever that night.

"What's eating you?" Bobby asked as Dean stormed through the study toward the stairs.

"I'm just sick of people having death wishes!" Dean snapped. "Especially without telling me!"

Bobby sighed, getting up and following Dean upstairs where he leaned in the doorway of Cas' room as Dean yanked open a drawer and pulled out a pair of sweat pants, a long sleeved shirt and a flannel, along with a thick pair of socks.

"I don't think Cas has a death wish, at least not now," Bobby said. "I think what you have is a failure to communicate."

Dean snorted, turning around to the older hunter. "I've been trying, Bobby!"

"And you've been doing good for the most part," Bobby assured him. "But instead of just flying off and gettin' angry all the time, maybe try figuring out what's really going on with Cas. This whole thing has been hard on him, and you know he's still not all back together after what happened in Hell. You've gotta be there for him in whatever capacity he needs you to be, and if you can't figure out the cues then you may have to ask sometimes. Because, I mean it, Dean. If you don't, you may very well lose him."

Dean swallowed hard. "I know. I'm trying."

"Try harder," Bobby said firmly but kindly. "We're all the family he's got anymore." He looked Dean in the eye and the younger man saw the sincerity in Bobby's eyes and the encouragement that Dean needed. "I don't want to lose him either."

Dean nodded and bit his lip. He pushed past Bobby and hurried back down to the garage where he found Sam blow-drying Cas' wings as the angel slumped on a stool. He was still shivering but they would fix that soon.

They both looked up as Dean came in, Cas with an ashamed expression and Sam with one that told Dean they would probably be talking later. He set the stack of clothes onto the bench nearby.

"Here's your clothes, Cas. You guys okay out here if I go in and start dinner? I'll make you a hot cup of tea too, Cas."

Sam nodded and Dean tried not to simply run back inside the house. He wasn't sure what to say to Cas yet, how to approach his mistakes, so he needed a little bit of time alone. Hopefully after dinner he would be better suited to the conversation.

Sam accompanied Cas in to sit at the table in the kitchen just as Dean was putting cheese on the burgers to melt in the pan. He quickly reached into the microwave and grabbed the mug of tea he'd had waiting in there for Cas.

"Here, buddy, this should get you warmed up."

Cas sat down gingerly and accepted the tea the same way. "Thank you. I am feeling warmer now."

Dean still wanted to broach the subject of why Cas would do something as stupid as sitting out in the cold while he was wet, but bit his tongue. That was the last thing he needed to say to his friend right now. Instead he watched cautiously as Cas took the mug, hands shaking slightly as he brought it to his lips. His face was paler than it had been of late, and his wings hung limply, the feathers dull. Dean swallowed hard. Oh yeah, he was gonna have to have a long conversation later with both Cas and Sam.

"Burgers are almost ready," he said instead, trying to keep his voice light. "Sam, can you grab the condiments from the fridge?"

The dinner was slightly tense. Dean watched Cas out of the corner of his eye, Sam was watching Dean, and Bobby was watching all three of them, eyes narrowed as if he were on the verge of calling them all idjits. Cas didn't look at anyone, just focused on his plate, nibbling at his food even though he usually liked hamburgers. Dean refrained from sighing, looking down at the rest of his own food, not really hungry himself.

As soon as Dean started clearing the table, Cas stood up and announced that he was going to bed.

"Cas, you okay?" Dean asked him, knowing he needed to be monitoring his friend right now in case he started feeling under the weather again, but not wanting to push Cas at the moment.

"I'm fine," came the short reply.

"Okay, well, let us know if you need anything," he said helplessly as Cas left the kitchen.

Sam looked at Dean, catching his gaze.

Bobby sighed and stood up. "Well, I'll leave you two to the dishes. I've got work to do." And he promptly retreated to the study.

Dean sighed inwardly as Sam joined him at the sink. "We need to talk about Cas," he said quietly.

"I know," Dean replied. "He say anything to you earlier?"

Sam shook his head. "Not really. But he's obviously going through something."

"It's my fault," Dean muttered darkly.

Sam turned to him with a sympathetic look. "I don't really think it is, Dean. Cas might be in a bad place right now, but he's not stupid. He knows how you work, that your brand of caring is usually expressed in anger first." Dean rolled his eyes. He didn't think he was that bad. "I think there's more to it than just your excessive mother-henning and off-handed comments this morning."

"Well, if that's the case, we need to figure out what," Dean said. "Because what he did this afternoon…we can't let him do crap like that. It's not healthy. And the longer it takes him to recover the more depressed he's going to get."

"I know."

Dean sloshed soapy water onto a plate, scrubbing more vigorously than he had to. "I just hate not knowing how to fix something," he muttered.

Sam smiled slightly. "Yeah, I can tell. But maybe that's part of the problem, Dean. I mean, Cas isn't a car, or a thing, you can't just get the right parts and put them together and have him be fixed. It takes more than that to fix a person and Cas has been through…well, hell." Sam gently took the plate Dean had over-washed and started to dry it. "You and I have been through a lot of bad too, but we've also always had each other. Cas just lost his family, and he's not quite sure how to fit into his new one yet. We really need to just work on helping him figure out how to do that, I think."

Dean thought back to what Bobby had said to him earlier too, and had to admit Sam was right. He nodded. "Okay then, where do we start?"

Sam put another plate in the drainer. "We start by making sure he's okay, and figuring out what exactly is wrong. Then we can work on how to fix it."

Dean took a deep breath. "Sounds good. Shall we go now?"

Sam smiled and nodded.

Together, they trooped up to Cas' room and Dean knocked gently on the angel's door.

"Hey, Cas? Can we come in?" he called.

He heard a sigh and a shuffle from the other side of the door before Cas opened it, looking haggard.

"Yes?" he asked. "Do you need something?"

Dean shared a look with Sam before the younger brother took over. "We were just making sure you were doing okay, Cas. You just looked pretty worn down after this afternoon. Are you warm enough?"

"I'm fine," Cas insisted almost too swiftly, and looked as if he were stopping himself from wrapping his arms around his chest. "I'm just tired. I would just like to sleep, if that's okay."

"Of course. Just let us know if you need anything," Sam offered.

Cas closed the door and Dean sighed as he and Sam made their way back downstairs. "Well that went well," he said sarcastically.

"Give it time, Dean," Sam said. "He does look exhausted. Maybe after a good night's sleep he'll be more willing to open up."

"Yeah, if he can even get a good night's sleep. And he's probably going to come down with another fever," Dean grunted.

"If he does, we'll deal with it."

"But it will only make his molt rougher, and all of this could have been avoided!" Dean protested, running a hand through his hair. "I just don't know what to do, man."

"Like I said Dean, one day at a time. That's all we can do. I'm sure he'll feel better tomorrow after a little sleep."

"I hope so," Dean sighed. He knew what he needed right then, a good drink.

~~~~~~~

Castiel curled on the bed. His body was still shivering slightly, even though he had pulled on another sweatshirt and a blanket. He could feel the achiness that had foretold of the fever last time and knew he had made a big mistake sitting outside for so long that afternoon without the sun or a way to properly dry his wings. Now he would be even more of a burden to the Winchesters and it had all been his fault. They would have every right to kick him out now, and he wouldn't even blame them.

He slept, or tried to, his head muddled and groggy. When he finally fell into a stupor, it was, of course, nightmares that came to meet him.

Tonight, he was chained in Hell again. But this time Samyaza was not there, Sam and Dean were. For a moment he felt a surge of hope, but then he saw them talking to Samyaza and shaking their heads.

"We just can't keep him anymore," Dean was saying. "Too much work."

"Not worth the trouble," Sam added.

"No, please," Castiel tried to protest. "I won't make trouble!"

"You know that's not true, Castiel." Zachariah was there now, a taunting smile on his lips. "You always made trouble. That's why you fell."

"It looks like you're all mine again, Castiel," Samyaza said, striding slowly over to him, the cruel scourge in his hand that made Castiel's back ache is memory. "Can't say I'm surprised. This is where you belong, after all. Just as I always told you."

"No! Sam, Dean!" Castiel tried to shout as his friends simply walked away. He tried to get his bound hands around the rings keeping his wings secure, prepared to dig them out of his own flesh if he had to, but they wouldn't budge. He kept calling for his friends, but his voice finally caught in his throat, sound refusing to pass his lips, and he found that he had been gagged. Samyaza was there beside him, watching.

"Hush, Castiel," the Grigori told him. "Let me show you what you're truly good for."

The lash bit into his back and wings and Castiel screamed in agony, struggling to get away, but the chains were too tight and there was no one to save him now.

~~~~~~~

He woke screaming in agony too, discombobulated, not knowing what happened, but feeling pain in one of his wings. He gasped, tried to sit up, but feathers slipped and pulled under his hand and he cried out again, thrashing around, wondering why his bed had suddenly turned so hard, and why his head was aching. Feathers littered the floor and there were some clenched in one of his fists, something sticky on his fingers.

"Cas!" A door slammed open and bare footsteps rushed toward him. Light was suddenly flicked on, blinding him and making his head hurt worse. He squeezed his eyes shut but not before he saw Sam's concerned face hovering above him. Surely this was just another cruel joke.

"Cas, what happened? Oh god, your head…"

Hands helped Castiel sit up, one cradling his head, as more feet came into the room.

"What happened?" Dean's voice. Castiel chanced opening his eyes again to see the elder Winchester enter the room, Bobby right behind him, but hovering in the doorway.

"I think he fell out of bed. Looks like he hit his head," Sam said.

Dean was suddenly in front of Cas. "Cas? Hey, calm down and let me see." Hands cupped the sides of Castiel's face, tilting it up to the light. Castiel hissed in discomfort, squeezing his eyes shut. "Yeah, you bashed your melon pretty bad. Bobby, can you get a wet cloth and probably the first aid kit?"

"I-I'm fine," Castiel said hurriedly as the words started to make sense.

"Yeah, not until we make sure you don't have a concussion," Dean said blandly, repositioning his palm against Castiel's forehead with a frown. "Plus you're burning up again, which is exactly what I was afraid of. Sammy, help me get him back into bed."

Castiel hung his head as Sam and Dean gripped him under the arms and lifted him back up to sit on the edge of the bed. He maneuvered his wings out of the way, and cried out involuntarily as the wing he had fallen on was moved.

"Is something wrong with your wing?" Dean demanded and Castiel hurried to pull his wings close to his body, but even that movement hurt and Dean had already gently taken the arch of his wing in a firm but gentle grip. "Dammit."

"What?" Sam asked, leaning over Cas' shoulder.

"He must have knocked it when he fell out of bed, scraped it or something."

Castiel looked down at his lap where his shaking hands rested and opened one, seeing a clump of feathers, his fingers sticky with blood. Sam hissed in sympathy and Dean's eyes widened.

"Cas, you've half ripped out some of your new feathers!" Dean cried. "They're bleeding all over the place!"

A keen escaped his throat and he let the feathers sink to the floor and buried his aching head in his hands. "I'm sorry," he tried. "The nightmare, I was just…I was trying to…to escape…"

"Hey, Cas, you don't have to be sorry," Sam said, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder and his knee. "We're just worried that you hurt yourself."

Bobby came back in then and handed the first aid kit to Dean and a washcloth to Sam who began to clean up the blood from the cut on his forehead that Cas hadn't realized was there until now.

"I—I can do it," he tried to insist, reaching out to grab Sam's wrist. "You don't have to…"

"The hell you can, Cas!" Dean snapped.

"Dean," Sam cautioned.

"No, Sam, I'm getting to the bottom of this now," Dean insisted. "Cas, why shouldn't we take care of you?"

So many roiling emotions were overcoming him that he could barely think. Was Dean really asking that, after what he'd already made obviously clear? "Because—because, I know you're stuck with me, and I don't want to be more of a burden than I already am," he said miserably.

"Whoa, Cas," Sam said, sounding shocked, but Dean cut in before he could say anything else.

"A burden?" the elder brother demanded. "Where the hell is this coming from, Cas?" he demanded.

Castiel just shook his head, fighting back the moisture pricking from behind his eyes. Dean shifted, crouching in front of him, and reaching up to grip his chin.

"Look at me," Dean said and Castiel somehow managed to do just that, though he didn't want Dean to see how truly wretched he was. "Cas, why would you say that?"

"Because you did!" he finally snapped, slapping Sam's administrating hands away and jerking from Dean's grip as his grief finally poured out.

Dean was on his feet in an instant, genuine shock on his face. "When did I say that?!" he demanded.

Castiel hung his head, unable to look at the elder Winchester or the older hunter standing off to one side. "I heard you and Bobby talking today," he forced out. He may as well admit it now. There was no point in keeping it under wraps anymore. If they didn't want him here they could say it to his face and be done with it. He was just tired of the delusions, the pretending. "You said I wasn't pulling my weight and that you were stuck with me until you could find a better arrangement."

Sam looked up at Dean and Bobby, open-mouthed. The other two men had just about the same reaction.

"What the…Cas I never said that!" Dean demanded.

"But I heard you!" Castiel insisted, hands clenching in his lap, head pounding all the more, almost blinding him. "Bobby called me a 'damned slacker' and you said there was nothing you could do because you were the only ones with the resources and you were stuck with me."

Recognition lighted on Dean's face and he turned to Bobby briefly before turning back to Castiel. "That's what this is all about?" he demanded. "You froze yourself outside today because you heard us say those things?"

Castiel nodded wretchedly. "I know I just made it worse, but…"

"Cas, we sure as hell were not talking about you, how could you think…?" Dean broke off, running his hand over his hair and down to his mouth like he did when he was really upset.

"Then what?" Castiel asked tiredly.

"Son, we were talking about another hunter," Bobby told him. "The bastard who was supposed to take over helping me work the phones since Rufus passed. He is a damned slacker."

"But you aren't, Cas!" Dean choked out. "God, you're laid up! What do you think we expect you to do? We just want you to rest up and get better! What did I tell you when we got you back, huh? We're family! You don't think that means something to us?"

"I wanted to believe that," Castiel said quietly.

"Then believe it!" Dean insisted. "Because we're not just gonna cut you out, Cas, you're our brother!"

"And you are an idjit, but that just makes you one of them," Bobby told him as he jerked his head toward Sam and Dean, a definite fondness in his voice.

Sam sat back down next to Castiel on the side of the bed and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Cas, we would never just throw you out because we thought you weren't pulling your weight. Hell, we're not even pulling our weight right now with hunts, because our priority is staying here and getting you better."

Castiel felt a tug at his chest and hung his head, overcome again with a flood of emotions he was having trouble sorting through.

"So I'm still just an idiot who can't figure out human nuances?" he asked wryly.

Bobby snorted. "Oh yeah, like these two are so great at it," he muttered, jerking his thumb at Sam and Dean.

Castiel finally looked up at all of them, wetness in his eyes. "I—I shouldn't have lost my faith in you. I never did when you saved the world, I shouldn't have now."

"Hey," Dean said softly. "I get it. You've been burned so many times—by us too. But this is a new start, remember? And I know it's not gonna be smooth sailing at first—obviously—but this is good, right? That just means we can get better at working it out."

Castiel offered a small smile. "I suppose you're right."

"Just remember that we think of you as our brother, Cas," Sam said and pulled the angel into a brief hug, arms squeezing him comfortingly and giving Castiel a little more reassurance.

"And the first step now, is getting you better," Dean said firmly and returned to the first aid kit. "Let's see what we can do about this."

Castiel sighed, partly in relief, partly in false exasperation. "I suppose that means I'll have to endure your mother-henning again."

"Damn straight," Dean told him in mock seriousness. "And I'm gonna have to take your temperature again too."

Sam grinned as Cas rolled his eyes and patted him on the shoulder.

"It won't be so bad," he said.

Together Sam and Dean cleaned his head and wing and took his temperature, finding he had a low-grade fever again.

Dean was taking a long time cleaning his wing and Sam joined him to inspect it. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"Some of these new quills are broken," Dean said grimly and Castiel shuddered as he ran a finger gingerly over them. They were extremely tender.

"What do we do?" Sam asked.

"Just leave them," Castiel said with a sigh, already exhausted and wishing that he could sleep again.

"Sorry, Cas, but we can't do that," Dean said. "I read that if new quills are damaged they have to come out. And these are broken and bleeding."

"Do you have to?" Castiel asked, stomach tightening as he thought of the pain that would cause.

"Cas, they have to come out. They could get infected and even if they don't the feathers won't form right when they come in. It will just cause you more pain in the long run."

Castiel bit his lip. "Alright, then, just do it."

"Why don't you lay down?" Sam suggested. "That will make it easier for both of you."

Castiel lay down on his stomach at Sam's bidding and tried not to squirm as Sam held the arm of his wing firmly while Dean went to fetch some pliers.

"Sorry about this, Cas," Dean said, real regret in his voice. Sam tightened his hold and Castiel felt the pliers grip one of his new feathers before Dean yanked it swiftly out of the already tender skin.

He cried out, unable to help himself and his other wing instinctively jerked, catching Sam in the jaw and Dean in the shoulder.

"Sorry," he gritted out.

"Sam, hold him," Dean said firmly.

Sam did as he was asked, saying quiet encouragements as Castiel keened again when Dean yanked another quill out.

It seemed like an eternity before all the damaged quills had been removed and by then Castiel was just lying limply on the bed, exhaustion born of pain making him heavy. He felt a warm hand rest in the middle of his back, just under his wings.

"Hey, buddy," Dean said, and Castiel opened his eyes to see the elder Winchester crouching beside the bed. "It's all over. I'm gonna get you some pain meds, okay?"

Castiel nodded and Dean left. Sam stayed, sitting next to him on the bed, his hand rubbing at the base of Castiel's neck to try and relax him and offer support. Castiel found it almost as soothing as having his wings groomed.

Dean came back soon and nudged Castiel's shoulder. "Need you to sit up," he said.

Castiel did so with Sam's help and swallowed the pills Dean gave him.

"Now, I have an idea so you don't fall out of bed and smash your head open again," Dean told both him and Sam. "Can you sit in the chair over in the corner for a second, Cas?"

Curious as to what the hunter was planning, Castiel made his way over to the chair and then watched with a frown as Sam and Dean dismantled his bed, first putting the mattress on the ground in the clear spot on the floor. Dean then gathered up all the pillows from the bed, and then went out of the room only to come back with more and placed them on and around the mattress.

"There," he said, stepping back and turning to Castiel. "Now you don't have anything to fall out of and it will give you more room for your wings so they don't have to just hang off the sides of the bed."

Castiel cocked his head to one side. "Oh." It did look comfortable. He stood up and went over to it, lowering himself down gingerly, his head still pounding. He spent a few seconds getting situated and settling down among the pillows and blankets but found it to be quite comfortable.

"What do you think?" Sam asked.

"I like it," Castiel said surely. "It reminds me a bit of the nest beds that I shared with some of my brothers and sisters as a fledgling."

Sam smiled and Dean's eyes widened. "So…angels do sleep in nests?"

"Well, we don't really sleep exactly, not as full angels, but…yes, fledglings do sometimes require rest."

"Huh," Dean said with interest. "Well, I'll be damned."

Castiel was tired though. "Thank you for this," he murmured into a pillow. "It is much nicer."

"You need anything else?" Sam asked him.

Castiel smiled. "No, I think I am okay. I would just like to try and sleep off this fever."

"Okay, well, let us know," Sam said and shared a glance with Dean before he left the room.

Dean on the other hand didn't leave, but picked up a stray pillow and blanket and headed over to the chair in the corner, sitting down and stretching out in it.

"What are you doing?" Castiel asked him tiredly.

"Staying here with you," Dean told him firmly, punching the pillow a couple of times before putting it between the wall and his shoulder.

"But you should get some sleep…"

"If I need sleep in a real bed, I'll go get Sam," Dean said. "But I'm not gonna leave you alone tonight." He met Castiel's eyes. "I know how real nightmares can seem, how hard they are to shake. I also know it helps to have someone there when you wake up. Even if you don't want to talk about it." He shrugged. "But if you ever do…I'm here to listen."

Castiel bit his lip, knowing that Dean and Sam both knew how bad nightmare could be.

"Look, I know it's gonna take you a while to get your feet under you. Trust me, I know." A haunted look passed over the elder Winchester's face and he swallowed hard. "It took me a long time to wrap my head around being topside again after Hell. It's…down there things just aren't attached to reality, and yet, it seems like there's no reality but that. So I get it. And I just want you to know that you don't have to be all right. Sam and I don't expect you to be, and you're not gonna disappoint us or whatever crap if you need to just take a moment sometimes, okay?"

Another wash of warmth at Dean's understanding spread through Castiel's chest. "Dean, I…"

"You don't have to say anything," Dean told him gently. "I just want you to know that I meant what I said earlier. Sam and I are not cutting you out. For any reason. Even if you just want to sit around on your ass for the rest of eternity. That's cool with us."

"I've never been good at sitting," Castiel admitted.

Dean smiled. "Still. You're stuck with us. Unless you really want to go."

He sounded unsure as he said that, almost afraid that Cas might actually want to leave. But the angel shook his head. "I don't want to go," he assured him. "You and Sam and Bobby—you're all I have now. And I don't really want anything different."

Dean smiled. "Well, you're funeral. G'night, Cas."

"Goodnight, Dean," Castiel replied and closed his eyes. How could he have ever doubted that these men cared about him? He supposed he would have to do better at learning to trust again too. They all had a lot of work to do.

But tonight, he would rest.


	8. That kept so many warm

With the reconfirmation of the Winchesters' devotion to Castiel, he got better and better. He continued to eat well, and take his vitamins as Dean told him to even though he still grumbled about it. But the healthy living was helping his feathers to grow in full and dark and smooth with a glossy sheen that the few of his old ones left couldn't compare to anymore. Castiel had to admit, he was rather proud of them.

Of course, the nightmares still plagued him, but they plagued Sam and Dean too, and they were most of the time about Hell, and not so much about Sam and Dean abandoning him. But even when he did have those dreams, he was constantly reminded of the promises his new family had made him, and he could more easily forget the dreams for the fabrications of his mind that they were.

He had taken to going to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea, or, his personal favorite, hot chocolate, when he had a nightmare, and sometimes, Sam or Dean would join him and they would sit silently at the kitchen table as the haunted looks left their eyes and they shared in the camaraderie of individuals who had been through the worst of things, unimaginable to normal people, and had survived them. Castiel realized now more than ever that you did not get through things like that without scars. But scars could also make you stronger and sometimes you needed them as reminders of why you kept fighting to begin with.

But he was also learning how to enjoy his time with the Winchesters too. He and Sam liked to talk about books, and Dean would sometimes show him how to tune up the Impala, or Castiel might help wash the car on sunny days while he was letting his still growing wings dry after a shower. Dean also insisted on introducing him to what he considered to be 'classic' movies, and was adamant in teaching him about pop culture.

"You're never going to understand my references unless you actually sit down and learn something," Dean told him.

But one of Castiel's favorite things to do was play games. Bobby taught him poker and he had picked it up almost instantly to the older hunter's astonishment, and then proceeded to win all the games he played against Bobby and the Winchesters.

"Dude, how are you even doing this without cheating?" Dean demanded after losing for the tenth time and having to forfeit the last of his M&Ms (their current version of poker chips).

"It's actually rather simple when you think about it, Dean," Castiel told him, trying not to sound too smug. "All you really have to do is remember what cards have been played and come to reasonable conclusions on the ones you haven't seen yet."

Dean looked at Bobby with a 'Can you believe this?' look to which Bobby shrugged and said. "I didn't teach him to count cards."

Sam laughed, and Dean immediately wanted to recruit Castiel for earning them money on the road.

Poker was fun, but board games were even better.

One afternoon, the boys introduced Castiel to Monopoly and he was very entertained by the idea that you could buy fake properties with fake money and earn more fake money when people landed on them. He wasn't sure he quite understood the earnestness behind Dean and Sam's rivalry because of it (or the fact that Dean was insistent about being the car piece and Sam was insistent about being the dog) but he did enjoy the game, and watching the brothers play made it twice as entertaining.

"Boom, Park Place to go with my Boardwalk. Suck it!" Dean grinned as he slapped his money down on the table for Sam to count since the younger Winchester was playing the banker.

"Yeah, sure, Dean, if you have enough money to buy good hotels. Especially after landing on my Pacific Avenue every time you go around the board and insisting on riding the railway lines." Those were Castiel's, he had managed to collect all four and they were very lucrative.

"I swear, those dice are rigged," Dean snapped. "And I'll totally have enough after you land on Marvin Gardens again."

"Sure, we'll see how that goes for you," Sam smiled as he rolled the dice. He instantly groaned as he saw where he was going to land. Dean whooped, pumping a fist in the air.

"Told you you would land on my spot, bitch! Looks like there's gonna be new hotels on Boardwalk soon enough. You better save up for your stay there."

"Whatever, jerk, you're still gonna land on Pacific Ave again. Just watch!"

Castiel smirked and took the dice for his turn and moved his shoe to the proper spot. "Free parking? What's that?"

Dean and Sam both groaned. "Dude, you got the jackpot in the middle!" Dean said.

"Oh," Castiel said with a smile and retrieved the pile of money that had been building up in the center of the board. "I guess that means I have enough money to put hotels on all of my properties now."

Sam and Dean watched as Castiel bought all the hotels he needed and placed them around the board, trepidation on their faces.

Dean took his turn again and then groaned as he landed on 'Go To Jail'. Sam laughed at him.

"Shut up, it's not like you never get in there."

"Oh, Dean, look where I'm gonna land," Sam said, lowering his piece down on the blue spot. "Park Place. And guess what? You can't get paid when you're in jail."

"Aw, come on!" Dean cried. "How is that fair?"

"I don't think life is usually fair, Dean," Castiel told him blandly as he and Sam shared a smirk.

"I hate this game," Dean muttered good-naturedly.

"Just bail yourself out next round," Sam told him as he passed the dice to Castiel again.

Bobby came into the room before they could play anymore though.

"If you idjits can take a moment out of this all important game you're playin', you've got a delivery man waiting for you to sign something outside."

Dean and Sam's faces lit up and they shared a grin as they stood. "Awesome!" Dean said.

"What is it?" Castiel asked, as he stood up as well.

"Oh, you'll see before too long," Dean told him with a secretive look. "Just stay here, okay? No peeking."

Castiel frowned as Sam and Dean hurried out the door and Bobby just rolled his eyes before refilling his coffee mug and retreating back to his study.

Castiel was wondering why he wasn't allowed to look, especially when he heard Sam and Dean reenter the house through the front door, grunting and cursing as if they were trying to move something very large. The noises continued up the stairs and finally it sounded like Bobby joined in too. Castiel wondered if he shouldn't offer assistance, but Dean had told him not to peek, so he wouldn't unless he was asked to. Humans seemed to take that personally.

Before long, though Sam and Dean returned to the kitchen, grinning.

"Hey, Cas, we have a surprise for you," Sam told him.

Castiel stood up, frowning. "A…surprise? What for?"

Dean shrugged. "Because you're staying here now and we wanted you to have a welcome gift."

Castiel cocked his head to one side, not quite understanding. "Is that…customary?"

Dean huffed a longsuffering breath. "Well, we don't know when your birthday is, but yeah, it is customary for family and friends to give each other gifts on important occasions. I think you joining our family is an important occasion." He shuffled slightly, hands stuffed into his pockets.

"Why don't you come see, Cas?" Sam offered, breaking the slightly awkward moment.

Curious, Castiel followed them up the stairs and to the room he had been staying in. Dean hurried ahead to the door and put his hand on the doorknob, swinging it open with a flourish.

"Ta-da!" he said with a grin.

Castiel entered the room and stopped at the sight of the thing in the center of it, where the bed had been, not really sure what it was.

"Is it…a bed?" he asked cautiously.

Dean and Sam came into the room with him and gathered around the large round object. "Yep!" Dean told him. "It's a round bed. Sam and I were trying to find something that might help you be more comfortable when you sleep, and we came across this and…well, I remembered what you said about angels and nests so I thought this might be more comfortable than a regular bed." Dean shrugged and ran a hand over the back of his neck like he did when he was feeling self-conscious. "You don't have to like it," he added quickly.

Castiel took a hesitant step toward the bed and settled a hand on the mattress, pressing down. It was rather springy and seemed like it would be comfortable. "This…actually seems like it would be a much better shape to sleep on." He glanced between them. "Bobby doesn't mind?"

"'Course not, idjit," Bobby said from behind him, and Castiel realized he had been standing in the doorway the whole time. "It's your room, you can do what you want with it."

"My room?" Castiel was slightly taken aback.

"Of course, Cas," Sam said with an odd look on his face. "What did you think it was?"

Castiel bit his lip, not wanting to admit he had been thinking of it as 'Bobby's guest room' up until now. Dean seemed to see what he was thinking.

"Since you have a room," the elder Winchester told him, leaving little room for argument. "You can start thinking of decorating it too. Maybe get a rug you like, or a bookshelf or something. Now that your wings are able to go incorporeal again on occasion, we can take a shopping trip and you can see what you like. Get you some of your own clothes too that don't have holes in the back."

"But that will cost a lot of money," Castiel said, knowing that the Winchesters weren't exactly rich—not like in Monopoly.

"Don't worry about it," Dean said clapping him on the shoulder. "Credit card fraud, remember? Besides, we can always take a trip to the bar in town, and get you to play poker."

"Dean," Sam grunted before he turned to Castiel with a smile. "Really, though, Cas, whatever you want. We just want you to feel like you're home here."

"I already do," Castiel told them truthfully, realizing it now for the first time. "And it has nothing to do with having my own room."

Sam and Dean shared a look and Castiel thought he saw Sam's eyes moisten. Dean cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck again.

"Okay, enough damn chick flick moments. I ordered some sheets for this thing too, you wanna help me get them on, Cas? You can decide if you think you need more pillows too…"

Castiel didn't really care about more pillows or really decorating his room at all, even though the idea was indeed novel—thinking about what he would want in a place that was specifically his. What he really cared about at that moment was how much the Winchesters, his new brothers, cared about him. Listening to Dean talk about the possibilities of what he could do for his room and Sam's sarcastic comments at some of the suggestions, told him that he had been right in saying he truly belonged here. He really had no doubt about it anymore.

And that night, as he curled up in his 'nest' of pillows and soft blankets, his wings folded gently over him, the new feathers growing in nicely, and finally past their itchy stage, he truly felt, for the first time in a long while, that he was home.

Hope in the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune without the words,

And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little bird

That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land

And on the strangest sea;

Yet , never, in Extremity,

It asked a crumb of me.

~Emily Dickinson


End file.
